


Bravery

by The_Eclectic_Bookworm



Series: the braveryverse [3]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M, i mean it's a becoming au i think there's a law that it can't be happy, some violence, starts out fluffy goes downhill from there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:05:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 27
Words: 50,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8563279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Eclectic_Bookworm/pseuds/The_Eclectic_Bookworm
Summary: “Rupert, what’s the ideal situation for you?” Jenny asked, crossing her arms and giving him her best inquisitive look. “That I just stay at home? Watch TV while the guy I love is throwing himself into life-threatening situations? Do you think you would ever be able to sit still and do nothing if you knew that you could do something to stop me from getting hurt?”(an AU of Becoming, and the summer that follows it.)





	1. an extra pair of eyes

Rupert had had to leave home early in order to identify some artifact at the Sunnydale Museum, which meant that he couldn’t come to the morning faculty meeting, which meant that Jenny had to sit by herself in the back of the room and take notes on Snyder’s instructions so that Rupert wouldn’t miss out on anything important. The thing was, though, listening for important things was like the auditory version of looking for a needle in a haystack, because the announcements and briefings were all buried under tirades about how _useless_ the students were and how _incompetent_ some teachers here were and how it was lucky that a certain librarian wasn’t here because he and his _girlfriend_ had no concept of decorum or professionalism.

Incidentally, at that point, it took all of Jenny’s willpower not to start hurling writing implements at Snyder from the back of the room. Technically, it was true; Snyder _had_ walked in on them kissing more times than was strictly appropriate. But it wasn’t like _Snyder_ was saving the world, or in constant, life-threatening danger, or trying to make the most of every minute with someone he loved (probably because Snyder was almost certainly incapable of human emotion aside from hatred, but that was beside the point). She felt like she and Rupert deserved a little leeway, and they _definitely_ didn’t deserve to be called out in front of the entire staff.

About two minutes before the meeting ended, Rupert entered the faculty room and sat down next to Jenny, at which point she kissed him on the cheek in order to piss off Snyder. It worked, because he snapped something about “at least _attempt_ to maintain _some_ semblance of decorum, Ms. Calendar,” which Jenny responded to by taking Rupert’s hand on top of the table. Thankfully, the school bell rang two seconds later.

“You seem…what’s the word? Violently angry.” Rupert squeezed her hand as they exited the faculty room.

“That’s two words,” said Jenny. Then, emphatically, “I can’t _wait_ for summer. Maybe something eats Snyder.”

“You sound like Xander,” Rupert commented idly, a small smile playing about his lips. “Yesterday he said he was crossing his fingers for a slow, painful demise.”

“Ew.”

“Snyder aside, I was hoping I could talk to you about what I examined at the museum,” said Rupert more seriously. “Perhaps in the library?”

“Oh,” said Jenny with a sigh. “We putting off the resouling ritual again?” 

Rupert gave her a very pointed look as the physics teacher walked by, looking at them both a bit strangely. “Perhaps in the library,” he repeated, and hurried Jenny down the hallway.

“England, how bad are we talking?” Jenny persisted as they walked. She was stumbling a bit; her legs were shorter than his, and it was a bit difficult to match his long strides. “Is it end-of-the-world bad or just plain old demon-stuck-in-an-artifact bad?”

“Frankly, Jenny, demon-stuck-in-an-artifact-bad is still quite horrifying,” Rupert pointed out. “It all really depends on the demon. And I’m still quite unsure as to what’s in it, which is why I wanted to talk to you about it.”

“About _what?_ ” Jenny was still thoroughly confused.

“I may need your help with some of the translation,” Rupert explained, pushing the door of the library open and letting go of her hand so that she could step through first. “I would do it myself, but I feel as though an extra pair of eyes might make the job quicker. Besides,” and here he smiled shyly, “I rather like working with you.”

“Aww.” Jenny stood on tiptoe to kiss him as the library doors swung shut.

Someone cleared their throat.

Rupert pulled away very fast. “Buffy!” he half-yelped. “Don’t you have class?”

“The more important question is, will there _ever_ be a time when you guys are able to cool it with the PDA?” Buffy replied with a raised eyebrow. “Willow said Snyder’s on the warpath.”

Jenny decided to ignore this, reluctantly moving away from Rupert and turning to face Buffy. “What’s up?”

“Just checking in on the whole Angel situation,” said Buffy with a casual attitude that was only barely recognizable as feigned. It was clear that she was getting antsy, and Jenny couldn’t blame her; they kept on continually putting off the ritual thanks to every week’s demon-related disaster. “We’re still doing the ritual tomorrow night, right?”

“Jenny and I—”

Jenny cleared her throat pointedly—after all, they were at school, and _Jenny_ wasn’t exactly a name Rupert could use with students—but she couldn’t hide her grin.

“Right. Um. M-Ms. Calendar and I—” (Rupert stumbled over the formality, and Jenny felt a delighted warmth at this; he was no longer used to calling her anything but _Jenny,_ now) “—may have to look into a new development the Sunnydale Museum has brought to our attention, but I don’t foresee our translations making it impossible for us to do the ritual, unless we find something needs imminent action.”

“And if something does?” Buffy had a tired resignation in her voice at this point. It was clear she’d heard this sort of talk too many times.

“Buffy, you must understand that we’re doing our best to find a time to ensoul Angelus,” Rupert persisted with gentle vehemence. “It’s almost definite that we shall still be able to perform the ritual tomorrow night.”

Buffy nodded slowly, still not looking all that convinced. “Yeah,” she said. “See you later for training, then. I gotta get to class.” She hurried past them, leaving a worried Rupert and a somewhat guilty Jenny in her wake.

“I’m sorry,” she said once Buffy had finally left.

“Wh— _Jenny,_ ” said Rupert, sounding half fond and half exasperated. “You’ve done the impossible, and you’re sorry because factors you can’t change are interfering with the time we can do the ritual in?”

“A little?” Jenny sighed. “I just—worry.”

“I most certainly understand that,” Rupert quipped. Jenny felt a wonderful flutter of happiness as he leaned in, gently resting his forehead against hers. She reached up, framed his face with her hands, and he moved towards her touch.

“Thanks,” she said. It could be in regards to anything, really.

“Of course,” Rupert replied with a silly little grin, and kissed her sweetly.

Jenny smiled against his mouth, not bothering to wonder whether he could tell. It was sort of amazing, not having to hide anything from him; she didn’t think she ever wanted to give that feeling up.


	2. tomb of alfalfa

They stayed late at the library that night; the ritual would have to take place there, so Jenny was trying her best to figure out some kind of protection spell to place around it. This alone wouldn’t have been too difficult, but Rupert was two seconds away from a full-out panic at Jenny being in the library at night, never mind that _he_ was in the library at night all the time for researching. The whole protective-boyfriend thing was only cute for a little while.

“Hey, maybe stop worrying and help me research?” Jenny suggested idly from where she was sitting atop a table, flipping through one of Rupert’s old spellbooks.

“One moment,” Rupert replied, rifling through the weapons cabinet. “Just let me find the holy water.” 

“Why stop at holy water?” Jenny said sarcastically. “Why not just bring out the biggest broadsword you’ve got?”

“Yes, good idea,” Rupert agreed without looking up.

 _Oh boy._ Jenny put down her book and walked over to the book cage. “Rupert,” she said, half-gently and half-exasperatedly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He jumped, turning around very fast. Jenny ignored this, continuing, “I’m not made of glass. I’m wearing a cross. You and Buffy gave me that crash course on self-defense last week. And Angelus isn’t anywhere _near_ the school. We’re all going to be completely fine, okay?”

Rupert didn’t look all that convinced. With some effort, he managed, “Jenny. I’m not sure you’re quite aware as to how much you mean to me.”

Jenny felt the familiar little grin spread over her face, and suddenly realized what she could do to calm Rupert down. “Yeah?” she said. Stepping forward and playing with his tie, “How much?”

Rupert smiled slightly, placing his hand over hers on his chest. Jenny noted with pleasure that the tenseness in his posture was gone, or at least forgotten for the time being. “Very much,” he said simply.

They stood like that for a moment before the library doors banged open, at which point Rupert jerked away from her, grabbed the nearest weapon, and pushed Jenny behind him with enough force to nearly knock her off her feet. As it was, she stumbled into the wall.

“Jeez, Giles, you okay?” Buffy asked. A girl Jenny didn’t know watched them both with a curious frown.

“Ah,” said Rupert weakly. “Buffy.” He turned to Jenny, taking her hand. “My apologies, dear.”

“It’s fine,” Jenny replied. “Also, ow, but mostly it’s fine.”

Rupert smiled a little nervously at her before turning to Buffy and the girl. “Kendra?” he said with surprise. “What brings you here?”

The name rung a bell with Jenny (Kendra, the other Slayer), but she still turned inquisitive eyes to Rupert. Before he could explain anything, however, Kendra asked, “Who’s that?”

“Oh, that’s—uh—Ms. Calendar,” said Buffy awkwardly. “She’s—she and Giles—she helps with—she’s—”

“My partner,” Rupert said, lacing his fingers with Jenny’s. Jenny tried not to grin _too_ ridiculously.

Kendra seemed to take this as answer enough. “My watcher told me that there is a dark power rising in Sunnydale,” she informed Giles. “Do you know anything about this?”

“Not, not as such,” Rupert replied uncertainly. “What sort of dark power—”

At that point, Jenny glanced worriedly over at Buffy, who had an almost resigned look on her face. She let go of Rupert’s hand and hurried across the room to her. “Look,” she said, “we don’t have to postpone the ritual. I’m sure there’s some way we can figure out what this is and take down whatever weird stuff is showing up.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said about the fish people,” said Buffy tiredly.

“Buffy, Angelus needs to be shut down,” Jenny said firmly. “And we’re wasting a lot of time with—”

“Acathla,” said Rupert weakly.

“Honey, not now, we’re making plans for the ritual tomorrow night,” Jenny informed him, directing a pointed look at him. 

“I could have done without the pet name,” Buffy commented.

Jenny ignored this, turning back to Buffy and saying, “This isn’t just about getting Angel back. This is about making sure Angelus can’t hurt anyone else, and frankly, we need to _make_ time for it at this point. It’s not something we can keep on putting off in favor of more serious things. We’re doing it tomorrow.” She locked her gaze with Buffy’s. “All right?”

Buffy hesitated, then nodded slowly. “All right.”

“Um,” said Rupert. “As much as I hate to disagree.”

Jenny pressed her lips together in exasperation before turning to face him. “Rupert, did you miss the part where I was saying _Angelus needs to be shut down?_ ”

“Yes, well, I most certainly agree with that, but—you’ll recall the translation we’ve been working on?”

“You’re looking pretty tense for a translation we barely started,” said Jenny slowly.

“Try the end of the world,” Rupert replied grimly.

Jenny managed to restrain herself from doing what she really wanted to do, which was curse violently in a few different languages and kick one of the bookshelves. Keeping her outward composure, she said as calmly as she could, “Are you completely sure?”

“I’ll have to continue the translation, of course, and most likely call the museum, but the evidence from Kendra’s Watcher does seem to point in that direction,” Rupert informed her reluctantly. “I’m sorry, Jenny, but I’m afraid the ritual will have to—”

“Go through as planned,” Jenny finished firmly. “I can call in Willow, you and Buffy and Kendra can take on the apocalypse stuff. Rupert, as much as I’d _love_ to help you go through age-old translations—”

“Is that a joke?” Buffy said a little disbelievingly.

“Shh,” said Jenny to Buffy. “I’m trying to sell my point here.” Turning to Rupert, she continued, “I’m not an integral part of stopping whatever it is Kendra’s here to defeat, but I _am_ needed if we’re gonna stop Angelus.”

Rupert looked hesitant. “I don’t want you in more danger than you need to be,” he said finally. “If Buffy and I are working on defeating Acathla, I won’t be able to—”

“If you finish that sentence with anything along the lines of _protect my girlfriend,_ I’m going to be _extremely_ pissed,” Jenny told him. “You know this is the sensible way of doing things.”

There was a beat, and then Rupert’s hesitance seemed to slowly dissipate. “You’re utterly dreadful,” he said in a fondly exasperated way that made her positive she’d won. “Get back to the preparations, then.”

“ _Thank_ you,” said Jenny, and beamed at a suddenly-hopeful Buffy before hurrying over to the phone.

* * *

“I've been on the phone to the museum,” Rupert announced to the group, coming out of his office.

“Oh boy,” muttered Jenny.

Rupert gave her a wry smile. “Quite,” he said, a bit tiredly. “The artifact in question is missing, and the curator has been murdered. Vampires.”

“And you're sure this was the tomb of Alfalfa?” Buffy asked seriously. Jenny and Willow exchanged an amused smile.

“Acathla,” Rupert corrected. “And yes, the information provided by Kendra's Watcher seems conclusive.”

Willow glanced over at Jenny before walking over to the table. “Okay,” she said nervously, “somebody explain the whole 'he will suck the world into Hell' thing, because that's the part I'm not loving.”

“Well, the, uh,” Rupert looked up at Willow, putting on his glasses, “the demon universe exists in a dimension separate from our own. With one breath, Acathla will create a vortex, a kind of whirlpool that will pull everything on Earth into that dimension, where any non-demon life will suffer horrible and... eternal torment.”

Jenny had heard enough of the doom and gloom talk; now was the time for her to get back into curse work. She motioned to Willow to follow her into the stacks. Willow didn’t seem to notice, yet, but that that might be better, because Jenny needed a moment to herself anyway. Things were getting pretty intense.

All she had to do was reread the translation with Willow, and it didn’t feel like she was doing all that much when Rupert and Buffy were dealing with a demon that could potentially destroy the entire world. It never felt like enough, what she did for the Scoobies. What she’d done.

Jenny ran a hand through her hair and uttered a shaky sigh, leaning heavily against one of the bookshelves. As many times as Rupert had told her _it isn’t your fault,_ it still felt like she should have done more to try and stop it. If she’d asked the right questions, if she’d been more honest with the Scoobies, if she’d tried harder to get the curse done in time, there wouldn’t be barely-there bruises on her neck and a tired, sad look in Buffy’s eyes. Somehow, she was certain that she could have been able to stop this.

Scarier than that was the idea that this was beyond any of their control, which was what her uncle had seemed to be leading up to before—god, before he was murdered by a monster of their own making, which Jenny _did_ blame herself for. If she’d been doing her job, he wouldn’t have come here. But if she’d been doing her job, she would have lost Rupert. There was a horrible part of her that didn’t feel bad for anything that had happened, because it had led her to him.

That was total trash. Badly-written-romance-novel level trash. She never used to be like this.

She heard footsteps, and jumped, expecting Willow, but then a warm hand slipped into hers and Rupert’s lips pressed fleetingly against her cheek. “Come here often?” he asked with a teasing gentleness, standing next to her and leaning against the shelves.

“I guess,” Jenny said.

The playful note in Rupert’s voice was gone when he said, “I love you, you know.”

Jenny felt a tightness in her throat and looked down at the floor. Rupert laced his fingers with hers.

They stood there in silence for about thirty seconds before Jenny finally said, “I never deserved that.”

Rupert kissed her temple. “You did,” he said simply. “You do.”

They heard the clatter of footsteps. Rupert didn’t move away from Jenny, nor did he let go of her hand; he stayed next to her, gazing at the bookshelf in front of them.

“I love you too,” said Jenny softly.

Rupert squeezed her hand.

“You rang, Ms. Calendar?” Willow inquired, tactfully ignoring her teachers’ joined hands, and Jenny was jolted back to reality.

“Yeah! Um, yes.” Jenny stepped away from Rupert, giving him a fleeting smile that he immediately returned. “We’ve got some reading to do.”

Willow nodded a little nervously, stepping aside to let Rupert hurry down the stairs to Buffy and Kendra. “You sure you want _me_ to do this? I mean, Giles—”

“Is probably going to be too focused on the apocalyptic demon thing to work on the ritual with me,” Jenny finished patiently, “so I’m going to need you as backup in the event that I’m, uh,” for a moment, she remembered Angel’s hands around her throat and had to tamp down a shudder, “incapacitated.”

“Which isn’t going to happen,” said Willow with an innocent sort of determination.

“Right,” Jenny agreed, and hoped it sounded convincing. “Just—we’re going to look over the ritual, make sure you’ve got everything down. It’s important you know every single word.”

“Yikes,” Willow mumbled. “No pressure there.”

Jenny had to smile; she was reminded of when she’d been asking Willow to substitute for her class. The stakes had been a lot lower back then, but she’d had just as much faith in Willow as she did right now. “You’re going to be fine,” she said, and meant it.

Willow gave her a shy little sideways smile and said, “Let’s get started on the ritual.”


	3. good to go

“Coffee?”

“Please,” said Jenny, taking the paper cup from Rupert and giving him a quick thank-you kiss. “How are you holding up?”

“Tense, mostly,” Rupert replied, smiling fleetingly, “but it’s to be expected on a day as important as this. You?”

“The kids have been good today,” Jenny answered cheerfully, or as cheerfully as she could given the gravity of the situation. “Luckily.”

It was hard to be at her usual level of optimism when today was the day of the ritual. She was _incredibly_ nervous about messing this up, and even more nervous that her not being able to cure Angel might make Buffy think twice about forgiving her. Which was ridiculous, of course, because Buffy had warmed to her even more since their one-in-the-morning phone call, but Jenny couldn’t stop herself from worrying.

“Well.” Rupert’s smile became soft and proud. “They have a lovely teacher.”

“I’m already living with you, England, what more do you want?” Jenny replied, rolling her eyes affectionately before putting the paper cup down and winding her arms around his neck. “Sentimental loser.”

“This from the woman who still has the bottlecap from our first date,” Rupert countered with a self-confident grin.

“Quiet, you’ll ruin my street cred,” Jenny quipped, and stood on her tiptoes, pulling Rupert down into a kiss. _There._ Now she felt better. Rupert’s hand rested lightly on the small of her back, and he pulled away a little to rub his nose playfully against hers, and—

And there were screams coming from a classroom down the hall.

Jenny pulled away from Rupert immediately. “What—”

“Stay here,” Rupert said quickly before hurrying out of her classroom.

Without hesitation, Jenny followed, the lingering stress of the day making her more irritated than usual at Rupert's determination to keep her out of danger. “Like hell I will,” she retorted, walking fast to catch up with him. She was suddenly very grateful that she’d switched to flats as of late. Grabbing Rupert’s arm, she added, “You can’t just keep on shoving me to the side where you think I’ll be safe.”

“Jenny, perhaps now isn’t the time,” Rupert replied immediately. As the screaming grew louder, he sped up to a run, and Jenny was half-dragged along with him, stumbling a little to keep up.

“Maybe you need to _make_ time!” Jenny persisted furiously. “Because the way I see it, I’m going to end up in _more_ danger if we’re not collaborating and I go wandering on my lonesome.”

Rupert stopped. “You know I don’t—” He sighed. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“If your default setting is _keep Jenny out of the work I do,_ then we might have a problem when it comes to you _not thinking,_ ” Jenny said pointedly.

“This isn’t just filing and filling out paperwork,” Rupert said, suddenly terse and irritated, “and it doesn’t do anything for the situation to treat it as such. I’m not being irrational to worry about you, Jenny; by choosing to be in my life, you’ve made it more likely that your own will be cut short.”

“Yeah, well, it’s my choice!” Jenny burst out. “Not yours! So stop trying to—to shelter me, or whatever it is that you think you’re doing.”

“I’m not _sheltering you!_ ” Rupert said indignantly. “There’s rather a startling difference between _sheltering_ and _worrying._ ”

“Rupert, what’s the ideal situation for you?” Jenny asked, crossing her arms and giving him her best inquisitive look. “That I just stay at home? Watch TV while the guy I love is throwing himself into life-threatening situations? Do you think _you_ would ever be able to sit still and do nothing if you knew that you could do something to stop me from getting hurt?”

“I—” Rupert stopped, looking at her with a somewhat guilty expression.

Jenny gave him a pointed stare.

“No,” Rupert said, finally, almost reluctantly. “No, I wouldn’t. I just—I don’t think—” He reached out, taking her hands in his. “I want you safe,” he said. His voice was shaking, and there was a raw honesty in his voice that made Jenny almost uncomfortable; she wasn’t used to someone feeling so strongly about her, and couldn’t quite comprehend it.

“Yeah,” she said a little awkwardly. “I know. But you need to stop with the whole protect-Jenny-at-all-costs thing, okay?”

Rupert smiled slightly. “I will,” he said.

“Promise?” Jenny asked, squeezing his hands.

“I promise,” Rupert agreed softly, and leaned in to kiss her.

Someone cleared their throat.

Jenny didn’t let go of Rupert’s hands, choosing instead to turn her head and smile as calmly as possible at her boss. “Principal Snyder,” she said politely.

“Don’t you P _rincipal Snyder_ me, Ms. Calendar,” said Principal Snyder sharply. “I’ve had it up to _here_ with you two and your _complete_ lack of professionalism in the workplace, _especially_ at a time like this.”

“What?” Rupert blinked. “Oh! Emergency!”

“Ooh, we should really go check on that,” Jenny agreed hastily.

“Not so fast,” Snyder began, but Rupert and Jenny were already hurrying past him and towards the classroom. Smoke was coming out of the doorway, and Jenny could make out a pile of ashes in front of the teacher’s desk. Buffy, Xander, Willow, and Cordelia were standing outside, all of them looking somewhat shaken.

“Everything all right?” Jenny asked, more out of habit than anything.

“There was, uh,” Willow hesitated, “a bit of an incident.”

* * *

“She said _more will die._ I _have_ to go,” Buffy was saying fiercely to Giles on the upper level of the library.

“Then I should go with you,” Kendra put in.

Buffy turned to face Kendra. Jenny felt a catch in her heart at the serious look on Buffy’s face, and was reminded of when she’d first found out Buffy was the Slayer. _She really is so little_. “No,” Buffy said firmly. “I need you here just in case.” She began to descend the stairs. “I can take care of myself. And look, as long as Angel's fighting me, then he can't do this end-of-the-world ritual thingy, and that's a good.” Hurrying over to Jenny, she said, “Ms. Calendar, what do you think?”

“I think we’re still good to go for the ritual,” Jenny replied, and gave Buffy a reassuring smile that wasn’t returned. God, that vampire must have really shaken Buffy up. “I need maybe half an hour once we’re all set up.”

“Which means you just have to hold Angel off,” Rupert added from where he was looking through books on the upper level. “Don't let him close on you. If the curse succeeds, you'll know.” He turned around, neatly tossing a book to Jenny. She caught it, handing it to Willow before hurrying up into the stacks to him.

There was more discussion going on between the kids, but Jenny was feeling the horrible self-doubt rising in her as the possibility that she really _would_ be performing the curse tonight became more and more real and necessary. Of course, she couldn’t tell Rupert this, because that would mean admitting to vulnerability, which would mean that he might have reason to fuss over her a little, and his constant hovering really was getting on her nerves. Being near him would have to suffice.

“Hey,” she said.

Rupert jumped a little, glanced over at her with a smile that one might describe as _sappy,_ and continued to file his books. “Yes?”

Jenny bit her lip, then, “Can you make some coffee before I do the ritual? Is there time?”

Rupert smiled slightly. “I already set up a pot in the faculty room,” he replied, sounding rather proud of himself. “I suspected you might need some.”

“Cool,” said Jenny. “Thanks.” She didn’t move.

“Jenny?” Rupert turned to her.

He had so much _love_ in him. For someone who was so convinced that emotional attachments were dangerous and his sacred duty was supposed to be his top priority, his eyes always shone with love when he looked at her, or at Buffy, or at Willow, or even at Xander, and Jenny _couldn’t_ let him down. Not for this. She had to do this for him.

“I want to make the curse unbreakable,” she said in a strange, jerky voice that didn’t sound like hers. “I wish I knew how.”

Rupert was looking at her with so much adoration and she didn’t deserve any of it, not a single piece of it, not when all of this was her fault somehow. He took her hands in his and carefully uncurled her fingers. Jenny hadn’t realized she was clenching her fists. “You’ve done more than enough,” he said.

“I haven’t done anything yet,” Jenny replied. She couldn’t look at him.

“But you will,” Rupert said, as if reminding her of something he thought she’d forgotten. “You’re about to _restore Angelus’s soul._ ”

He sounded so delighted. Jenny tried to smile. “Yeah,” she agreed weakly. “Yes. I’ve,” she stepped away from him, “I’ve got to start setting up the ritual with Willow. Buffy’s gone to face Angel?”

“She has,” Rupert replied, glancing over at the children gathered around the table, now minus Buffy. “I’ll get you some coffee, all right?”

“Okay,” Jenny said. Her smile felt almost painful, and it was a relief to let it drop when Rupert walked away.

She hurried back down to the kids, looking over the items Willow was laying out on the table. “Nice spread,” she commented, picking up a candle and examining it. “You get these from the Magic Box?”

“Yep!” Willow replied. “Mostly from Giles, though. He’s got a _lot_ of candles in his office.”

“He says they’re for _ambience,_ ” Jenny quipped, and felt a little better at Willow’s giggle.

Setting up the candles was relaxing, and fun, and Kendra was actually pretty into the whole _arranging things neatly_ part of the job. Jenny liked her. She was a little shy, but maybe she’d stick around for a bit after this. It could be nice for Buffy to have another slayer to spend time with. 

Plus, Rupert came over with the coffee ten minutes into the setting up, and that was good too. Jenny was halfway through her second cup when they finally finished arranging everything for the ritual, and the caffeine buzz was doing a pretty good job of calming her nerves.

“All right,” she said, climbing onto the library table and sitting cross-legged in front of the arrangement. “Willow, remember, if anything happens to me—”

“We’ll be _fine,_ ” said Willow determinedly. “Cordelia, you got the sage?”

“Ready to burn,” Cordelia replied with a confident little nod.

“Giles, book?”

Rupert stepped forward, handing Willow the book and giving Jenny a reassuring smile.

Jenny felt a flicker of nervousness again, but tried her best to ignore it, choosing instead to give Rupert her best grin in return and turn back to the arrangement. “We’re ready,” she said. Her voice shook a little, and she hoped no one noticed.

Rupert placed his hand over hers, briefly.

Jenny felt herself really smile, and had to duck her head a little to hide it. She took a moment before nodding to Willow to start.

“ _Quod perditum est, invenietur_ ,” Willow recited.

“Not dead, nor of the living,” Jenny began. “Spirits of the interregnum, I call.”

This was going to work. It had to.

“Gods, bind him, cast his heart from the evil realm. Let him know the pain of humanity, gods.” Jenny looked up at Rupert, focusing on his eyes, trying to use her love to fuel her magic. Maybe that would change something about the curse, if it was cast through love? She loved Rupert. She loved these kids.

At that realization, Jenny felt a sudden certainty. She _could_ do this. If not for herself, she could do it for them. There were people in her life that she cared about, a lot, and that was new and wonderful. Another smile began as she continued, her gaze still focused on Rupert. “Reach your wizened hands to me,” she continued. “Give me the sword—”

From behind her, she heard a shout.

Jenny turned, startled, and then a rush of panic swept over her as she saw Xander struggling with a vampire. Jumping off the table to face Rupert, she saw the library doors bang open behind him, two more vampires striding purposefully inside.

“Get out!” Rupert shouted to the kids. “Go!”

Jenny looked around her for something she could use as a makeshift weapon. _Anything._ She hadn’t been wearing her cross. Why wasn’t she wearing her cross? It was late at night and it was dark and how did she _never_ learn to wear a goddamn cross—

Rupert shoved her, hard, in the direction of the stacks, stepping in front of her in an attempt to buy her some time. “Would you _stop?_ ” Jenny yelled at him, trying to push past him, her fear suddenly replaced by a determination to prove Rupert wrong. “Let me handle this myself!”

It wasn’t her fault, really. She hadn’t seen the fourth vampire come in from behind her.


	4. whirlwind romance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for some violence in this and the next two chapters.

He was lying on concrete. Concrete, and he had a throbbing headache, and _Jenny._ Giles jerked himself into a sitting position, ignoring the subsequent pain in his head as he tried to take in his surroundings. She’d fallen, and he’d tried to help her, and—and then what?

“Hi, Rupert,” came a voice next to him. Giles turned his head to see Angelus, who looked unnervingly cheerful. “I wasn't sure you were going to wake up. You had me worried.”

Giles stood up fast, trying his best not to show it when he felt a bit of a dizzy rush. “What have you done with Jenny?” he asked sharply, not even bothering to think about the logistics of the situation or how to get out of it. There was a spot of blood at the corner of Angelus’s mouth.

“Aww, how touching,” Angelus chuckled. “He’s worried about his girlfriend. Don’t worry, Watcher-boy, she’s not dead.” He grinned. “Yet.”

There were footsteps from behind him, and Giles’s mouth went dry. One of the vampires was carrying Jenny, who had a large bruise on her temple. She looked small and pale in the vampire’s arms, and without her eyes open and lively, she didn’t look as strong as she always seemed to be.

“See?” Angelus gestured to Jenny. “I mean, we had to knock her out to get her here, but we’ve taken good care of her. Didn’t even feed off of her.” He wiped the spot of blood off his mouth. “This was from a different guy,” he explained, his cavalier attitude utterly unnerving to Giles. “I mostly left it there for dramatic effect. I generally try to clean up nice before the torture starts up.”

Giles couldn’t think. He was supposed to think of a plan. He needed to get Jenny out of this. But she wasn’t stirring, and Angelus kept on smiling like he _knew_ what was going on in Giles’s head, and _he needed to think of a plan._

“I used to love torture sessions,” Angelus continued, “and it's been a _long_ time. I mean, the last time I tortured somebody, they didn't even _have_ chainsaws.”

Torture sessions. He wouldn’t. Giles looked around the room desperately, and his eyes fell on the stone statue.

“Oh, yeah. Acathla,” said Angelus, almost conversationally. “He's an even harder guy to wake up than you are. I mean, I performed the rituals, said all the right phrases... blood on my hand. Got nothing. Big doughnut hole for my troubles.” He walked over to the vampire holding Jenny, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I figure you know the ritual,” he continued. “You're pretty up on these things. You could probably... tell me what I'm doing wrong.” He looked back over at Giles. “But honestly, I sorta hope you don't…”

Jenny stirred, but didn’t wake.

“Because I _really_ want to torture her,” Angelus finished.

Giles felt a wave of cold fear unlike anything he’d experienced before. “No,” he said. His voice was shaking. He couldn’t remember how to remain composed, not with Jenny half-conscious and in more danger than she’d ever been. “Leave her out of this.”

“Yeah, well, seeing as you guys have that whole whirlwind-romance thing going, I kind of figured that maybe she’d know something too,” Angelus pointed out. “So, really, I think it works out. I torture her for information, and if I don’t get anything from either of you, you just have to watch—that’s kind of in the job description anyway, right? _Watcher?_ ”

Furious, Giles rushed at Angelus, forgetting to think his actions through.

There was a _thud,_ and a pained cry. The vampire had dropped Jenny.

“No—” Giles tried to reach her, but Angelus had grabbed him, forcing his hands behind his back. Jenny was sitting up, looking disoriented and confused, one hand moving up to her head. There was a scrape on the side of her face where she’d been dropped on the concrete.

“Someone get the rope,” Angelus called, and Jenny’s head snapped up at his voice. The fearful look in her eyes made Giles struggle harder against Angelus’s hold.

“Let go of him,” she said. So much of her usual confidence and certainty had dissipated. Giles hadn’t realized how comforting her courage had been until now.

Angelus grinned. “You two are so _cute,_ ” he said, his voice almost painfully mocking. His grip tightened on Giles’s wrists. “You worry about her, she worries about you, it’s almost nauseating. But hey, seems like it’s gonna work to my advantage when I try to learn how to figure out this ritual.” He nodded to one of the vampires to pull Jenny up off the floor. “Careful with her,” he said. “The longer we keep her fresh, the more fun it is to kill her.”

For a moment, Angelus’s grip loosened, and Giles thought he had a chance, but then he felt the rope being wound tightly around his wrists. He was tugged backwards, Angelus pulling him into a chair and forcing him into a sitting position. 

“Now, I haven’t done _this_ kind of thing in a while, and I’m really looking forward to it,” Angelus was saying as he tied Giles to the chair. “I’m still pretty pissed about that soul stunt she tried to pull off.” He looked up at Jenny with a predatory smile. “This is what you could call… _cathartic_ for me.”

“What do you want?” Jenny asked, her voice shaking a little.

“ _Oh_ , that’s right, you were still out of it when I explained the whole Acathla thing to your honey!” Angelus seemed delighted at the chance to describe his plans again. “See, I need to know the ritual, and I figure _one_ of you knows it, so I’m just going to torture you in front of him until somebody talks.”

Jenny’s eyes widened, but to Giles’s surprise, she didn’t move. The fear seemed to dissipate from her expression, and she met Angel’s gaze with a determined stare. “Yeah, see how well that works for you,” she said. “He’s stronger than that. So am I.”

“Aww, I’m not doubting _you,_ Jenny.” Angelus stepped forward, stroking Jenny’s hair. She didn’t flinch away from his touch, but Giles saw her tense. “Isn’t she just adorable! I can see why you like her, Giles—she’s a real catch. And smart to boot!” He turned back to Giles. “I just don’t think your boyfriend here is up to saving the world when your life is on the line.”

“You’re wrong,” Jenny said. There was a note of pride in her voice, and somehow, even with the danger they were in, Giles felt the bizarre desire to smile. Even while the vampire held her arms behind her back, she was holding her head high. His Jenny.

Angelus backhanded her.

Giles shouted. He wasn’t sure if it was a protest, or an insult, or some wordless declaration, because there was a ringing in his ears and he was fighting against the ropes holding him back. The situation had abruptly become serious, and real, and he didn’t know where the children were, but he hoped to God they’d get there soon because the vampire had let go of Jenny and she’d crumpled to the floor, Angelus looming over her.

All the vampires were leaving the room, now, a few glancing over their shoulders with amused little smiles, and Jenny was on the floor. Giles had to _get_ to her _somehow_ but the ropes were tight around his wrists and—

And Jenny was pulling herself up, eyes still bright. She was struggling to her feet, reeling a little but still standing. “You’re still wrong,” she said. “You can’t beat that out of me, Angel.”

“No,” said Angelus, quite cheerfully, stepping forward and pulling Jenny to him, “but I can try.”


	5. catharsis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for violence in this and the next chapter.

He started with her fingers.

“Catharsis,” Angelus said. There was a _snap,_ and Jenny’s eyes flickered momentarily shut, but that was the only visible reaction she had. “Nice word to use for this kind of situation. She types up a nice little Ritual of Restoration, I take preventative measures to make sure that kind of thing doesn’t happen any time soon. You know, honestly, I’ve been wanting to do this for a while now.”

Giles couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t speak.

“Wow, but she’s got some elegant fingers.” Angelus held up Jenny’s hand, examining it in the moonlight. “Bet it’s nice when she touches you, huh? Those perfect hands. You don’t want me to break another one, Giles, right? Spoil those pretty hands?” He curled his other hand around one of Jenny’s fingers and gave her an amused grin, as though it was a joke between them. Jenny shuddered.

“Please,” said Giles. His voice broke.

“Is that all you got?” Another _snap_ of bone breaking _._ Jenny still didn’t make a sound. “Because what _I’m_ looking for is more along the lines of how to bring forth Acathla. You’re _really_ not being helpful, Giles.”

“Don’t tell him,” said Jenny, her voice completely level, her gaze locked with Giles’s. “It’s fine. I’m okay.”

Angelus stopped, turning to Jenny, and then he started to laugh. Jenny held her head high, looking at him with an unusual amount of confidence, but Giles could see the hand with two broken fingers shaking slightly. “You’re really too much, you know that?” he managed through his laughter. “You think that you being strong is going to keep your boyfriend from spilling the beans on Acathla? Doesn’t matter what you do, Jen, he’s still going to tell me sooner or later. He won’t watch you die.”

Jenny smiled at Angelus, weak but still self-satisfied. “Yeah, but you’re not hurting him if you’re hurting me,” she said.

“Oh, it’s no _fun_ when they get all self-sacrificing and noble,” Angelus complained, and broke Jenny’s wrist. She gasped, but it seemed more from shock than pain.

“Please,” said Giles again. “Please, not her.” He was past the point of dignity. He had to save Jenny, somehow.

“It’s okay,” Jenny said, but her voice was strained.

“Torture me if you want—whatever you want—please, just let her go.”

“No, see, I _am_ torturing you,” Angelus explained mockingly. “Or are you saying that it’s fun to watch her break? Because, hey, I can definitely relate to that.” He broke another finger. Jenny squeezed her eyes tightly shut, as if trying to block out the pain.

Giles would have told him. Giles wanted to tell him. He would tell Angelus, and Angelus would let them go, and he’d hold Jenny, and kiss her, and they’d bandage her fingers in the hospital, and she’d never be in danger like this again, she’d be safe, he’d do anything—

Jenny cried out.

Giles looked up, and felt a horrible mixture of terror and fury.

Angelus pulled away from Jenny. There was a bloody bite mark on her neck. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he said. “If you’re not paying close attention to every second of this, the things I do to her are going to be a whole lot worse than just breaking fingers. We clear?”

“Crystal,” Giles said. His voice shook. He’d been trained, as a Watcher, to keep his composure, but the look on Jenny’s face as her hand fluttered to touch the wound on her neck was something that he had never wanted to see.

* * *

He broke every single one of Jenny’s fingers. She didn’t make a sound. She was strong. She kept her eyes locked on Rupert’s, tried to memorize his face, because there was a part of her that felt certain that she wasn’t going to make it out of this room alive.

 _I love you,_ she thought. There were tears in his eyes. _It’s okay. I love you._

“ _Wow,_ breaking fingers takes a lot out of you,” Angelus was saying. “I’m parched. You don’t mind if I take a little snack break, don’t you, Giles?”

“ _No—_ ” There was a pleading note in Rupert’s voice that would have made Jenny want to cry if things weren’t looking so awful already. She didn’t have time for tears, now. She had to make sure the world lived on if she didn’t, and she had to remember Rupert’s face.  

Angelus’s fangs sunk into her neck. She was prepared this time. She wouldn’t make a sound. She’d be strong, and if she was strong, Rupert would be able to remember that the world was more important than she was.

She was strong. She was. But she couldn’t look at Rupert when Angelus was drinking from her. She couldn’t do that. She

* * *

Angelus pulled away with a laugh. “Would you look at that?” he said, and jerked an unconscious Jenny up into his arms. “She’s conked out. Didn’t take as much as I thought it would.” He looked up, traces of Jenny’s blood still on his mouth. “Maybe you’ll pick a better one next time around, huh?” he commented, before dropping Jenny at Giles’s feet and beginning to stride out of the room. “I’ll only be a minute,” he said. “I think Spike and Dru should see some of this.”

Giles began to struggle again, some faint flicker of hope beginning. If he could wake her up, if she could untie him, they might have some sort of a fighting chance. “Jenny,” he said. His voice was hoarse, and he tried to keep it low in the event that Angelus might return. “Jenny. Jenny, wake up.”

Jenny’s eyelashes fluttered and she groaned softly.

“Come on.” Giles tried to nudge her gently with his foot. Jenny attempted to sit up, using one of her hands to brace herself on the floor as she did so, but her wrist twisted at an odd angle and she fell back onto the floor. It took her a moment to get up again, and another moment to look Giles in the eye.

“I can’t,” she said shakily. “He—” She held up her hands, the fingers out of place and awkwardly bent. “I can’t get you out.”

“Oh,” said Giles. It came out more of a sob than a word.

Mistaking Giles’s concern for her as fear for himself, Jenny moved closer to him on the floor, placing one hand on his leg. “You’re going to be okay,” she said with conviction.

“Frankly, Jenny, I’m not all that worried about me,” said Giles. He might have been crying, but he couldn’t tell; Jenny’s hair was pushed to the side, the bite on her neck quite visible, and it was all he could pay attention to.

“Yeah?” Jenny rested her cheek against his knee. “Lucky you.”

“I _hate_ to interrupt this touching moment,” said Angelus loudly as he reentered the room, “but we do have a torture session to get back to. Or does anyone have anything they want to tell me?”

“Does ‘fuck off’ work?” Jenny asked without moving from her position next to Giles.

“Oh, that’s cute,” Angelus said, and grabbed Jenny’s arm, pulling her up. “You want me to get out a sledgehammer, make your hands even worse than they are now? I can do that. I would be _happy,_ ” there was another _snap_ , a sound that was now horribly familiar to Giles, “to do that for you.”

Jenny bit her lip and didn’t say a word. Angelus, still holding her upright, slammed her hard against the wall. When he pulled her back, her nose was bleeding and she seemed barely conscious. Giles was tempted to look away. He _wanted_ to look away, if only for the sake of Jenny’s dignity. But Angelus’s earlier threat ( _worse than just breaking fingers_ ) kept Giles’s gaze locked on the scene in front of him.

“So,” said Angelus conversationally. “It’s been a few hours of this. I’m getting bored with the empty threats, and Jenny here isn’t even really all that hurt yet.” He pulled Jenny in front of him. “Now, I’m usually one for dragging these kinds of things out, but an hour more and I think I’m just going to kill her. That work for you, Jenny?”

He let go of Jenny, turning to look at her as she fell to the floor with a heavy _thud._

“I’ll just assume it works for her,” Angelus commented to Giles.

“Now hold on, Angelus,” came a voice, and Giles tried to look behind him, but the ropes tying him to the chair wouldn’t allow him to turn. He had to wait until Spike had rolled all the way into the room to actually see the vampire. “She’s the only bit of leverage we’ve got. You kill her, you kill any chance of him telling you what you need to know. He won’t care what you do to him.”

Giles never thought the day would come when he would agree with a soulless vampire.

“ _I_ want to kill her,” said Drusilla firmly, following Spike in and moving to stand next to Angelus. “She would have killed my Angel if she’d had enough time. I want her dead.”

“Hmm,” said Angelus. “It appears we have what one would call a _conflict of interest._ Spike thinks I shouldn’t kill Jenny, Dru thinks I _should_ kill Jenny, Rupert here doesn’t get a say because he still hasn’t told me about Acathla, Jenny—” He kicked the unconscious Jenny carelessly to the side, and it was then that Giles decided that, even if Angel got his soul back, he would _never_ forgive him. “Well. She’s a bit out of it at the moment.”

“Dru,” said Spike patiently, “if we get the information we need from the Watcher, she’ll die a horrible death like you want, along with the rest of this world. If we don’t, there’s no Acathla. It’s really just prioritizing.”

Giles was very ready to kill every last one of them for talking about Jenny’s life so casually, as if it was some sort of bartering chip, as if it wasn’t something infinitely precious to him. He couldn’t fight against the ropes, though, or draw attention to himself, because time they spent talking was time Angelus spent doing something other than hurting Jenny. Even though it was the last thing he wanted to do, he stayed completely still, eyes fixed on Jenny. She wasn’t moving.

“I see Spike’s point,” Angelus was saying. “We kill her now, we miss out on Acathla. Sorry, Dru.”

Drusilla huffed indignantly.

“ _But,_ ” Angelus continued, “she is a threat, so Dru has a point too. How about a compromise?” He grinned horribly. “We’ll start by giving Rupert one last chance.” He turned to Giles with that playfully mocking smile on his face. “How’s that sound? You tell us about Acathla, I don’t go through with what I’m planning for her.”

“What are you planning?” Giles countered, trying to mirror the assertive note in Angelus’s voice, but he couldn’t quite capture it when Jenny still wasn’t moving.

“Oh, no, I don’t want to ruin the surprise,” said Angelus, smile widening. “Dru? Could you get me one of my knives? Not too long, though, just long enough to make a point.”

“All your knives have points, Daddy,” Drusilla said delightedly, visibly quite cheerful at the thought of one of Angelus’s knives being used on Jenny. She hurried out of the room, all but skipping.

“Giles?” said Angelus, looking over at him with a quirked eyebrow.

Giles tried to remind himself that the world was more important than Jenny’s life. If she died here—but then he couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that she would die here, even as she lay unmoving on the ground next to Angelus. He loved her too much for her to die here. She was going to live a long and happy life, one stretching far beyond his own, and she was going to be safe, and she _wasn’t_ going to die here.

The information Angelus wanted was halfway to Giles’s lips when Angelus said casually, “Time’s up,” and turned towards Drusilla as she re-entered the room, taking the dagger she was holding and examining it. “Wow. This one even looks clean. Always nice to break it in.”

Giles realized what he’d almost done, and tried to remember why he should be relieved that he was keeping the world safe.

Angelus leaned down, pulling Jenny up carelessly by her broken wrist. She seemed to flinch involuntarily, her eyes still closed. “Okay,” he said. “Here’s how this is going to go down. I’m going to stab her, and you’re going to watch her die in front of you, and maybe after that you won’t be so interested in keeping the world safe. That work for you?”

“You wouldn’t,” said Giles. It was a stupid thing to say, but he was certain he was right. Jenny was an asset to Angelus, and killing her would make it highly unlikely that Giles would care about anything Angelus did after that.

“No,” said Angelus, “normally I wouldn’t, but I’m getting a little tired of the whole slow-torture thing, so maybe it’s time to cut to the chase.”

“I thought we were in agreement on the _not killing her_ thing,” said Spike exasperatedly. “This isn’t going to work.”

“I’m not killing her!” Angelus turned, one arm around Jenny’s waist as if supporting her. “I’m just stabbing her. If she’s left alone long enough, the blood loss is what’s going to kill her.”

“Word play and semantics, Angelus,” Spike persisted. It was almost odd, how much he was sticking to the _don’t kill Jenny_ side of the argument, and Giles might have paid more attention to that under different circumstances. “We’re going to need her.”

“Do you want to take charge of the torture session, Spike?” Angelus said angrily. “Because as it happens, I’m the one who—”

“Who has done _absolutely nothing,_ ” Spike finished. “We’ve learned _nothing_ new, except what it sounds like when the teacher’s fingers break. And if you’re planning on opening Acathla with that information, be my guest.”

Angelus looked at Spike, and for a moment, Giles was afraid that he’d stab Jenny simply out of spite for the other vampire. But then he nodded, slowly, and said, “See, the problem with your approach is that we _really_ don’t have any other options. I mean, what are we gonna do, just bang her against the wall more? That’s not going to get us the same reaction from him as a knife stuck in his girlfriend.”

Giles wanted to kill Angelus. He’d never wanted anything more.

“Don’t worry,” Spike replied with a little smile. “I have an idea.” He looked over his shoulder at the sulky Drusilla. “Drusilla?” he said. “Want to play a game?”

Angelus turned towards Drusilla, dropping Jenny to the floor and stepping purposefully on her hand as he walked over to the other vampires. There was a _crunch,_ and Jenny gasped, and Giles nearly overbalanced the chair trying to get to her.

In the corner, out of earshot, the vampires conferred quietly. Then Drusilla smiled, slow and eerie, and knelt down next to Jenny.


	6. peachy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning for violence in this chapter.

Jenny opened her eyes. She felt better. Or, no, not really  _better_ when she was lying on a concrete floor and it was too early in the morning for sunrise, but Rupert was stroking her hair and pulling her up into his arms.

“We did it?” she asked quietly, and it was strange, because while Rupert’s mouth didn’t move as he looked down at her, she thought she heard the dim sound of his voice in the distance. Almost begging.

“Almost,” said Rupert. “I need your help to stop Angel.”

“Has he figured it out?” Jenny inquired, still feeling a little dizzy.

“Figured what out?” Rupert looked down at her with a little frown.

Jenny sighed. “I’m tired,” she said. It wasn’t something she’d usually say to Rupert, but she couldn’t think straight long enough to save the world, and she wanted to go to sleep. Her head was beginning to hurt again. “You can do it, can’t you? Stop Angel?”

“I need your help,” Rupert told her gently, and smoothed her hair back from her face. He took her hand in his, ever so gently, kissing the broken fingers with a brush of his lips to make sure it didn’t hurt her. Jenny smiled. “Just remind me, love. How do I stop the ritual?”

“You know,” Jenny said blearily. “You—always knew.” She turned her face into his chest, and that’s when she realized that he didn’t smell like Rupert. 

“Of course I know, I’m just—tell me what to do, darling,” Rupert was saying, his voice honey-sweet. Jenny squeezed her eyes tightly shut, and now she could hear something else. Rupert pleading _._ Angelus laughing. There was something awful going on and Jenny didn’t want to know what it was.

“I’m going to sleep,” she said. Not exactly the healthiest coping mechanism, but if she was going to die (and she was getting the sense that she was going to die), she wanted this to be her last moment, with Rupert’s arms around her. Even if it wasn’t really Rupert, she’d take what she could get. 

Jenny let her eyes close, ignored the way not-Rupert dropped her, ignored Drusilla’s angry screeching, let the slow ache in her head drag her back down into unconsciousness.

* * *

Giles stared numbly at Jenny. He wasn’t sure what Drusilla had done, or what Drusilla had been trying to do, but he did see that Jenny wasn’t conscious and that Angelus was pulling Drusilla away. As Drusilla turned, Giles saw that her mouth was stained with blood. When he looked at Jenny, he saw a bite mark on her wrist, this one shallower than the one Angelus had left but still bleeding heavily. There were marks on Jenny’s face and neck, now, as though Drusilla had scratched her in anger.

 _If she dies,_  he thought,  _I’ll kill every last one of them. I’ll burn them to the ground._

Drusilla came over to him, now, lightly cupping his cheek with her bloodstained hand. She was murmuring something that Giles couldn’t pay attention to, was too angry and horrified to hear, and it was only when her hand passed over his eyes that he became half-cognizant of what she was trying to do.

But then it was too late, and it didn’t matter, because Jenny was sitting in front of him with a tender, bright smile.

“I’m so proud of you,” she said. “I love you so much.”

Giles wanted to remember why he should be wary. There was a reason, he was sure. “You were hurt,” he said.

“Drusilla tried to trick you, sweetheart,” Jenny told him, sympathetic and almost guilty. “I think you held out, I just—wish I had been  _there—_ ”

“I don’t,” said Giles matter-of-factly, and felt himself beginning to smile. “I—” He wished his hands were untied. He wanted to kiss her, softly, feel her smile against his mouth, feel her safe and warm against him. “You’re all right?”

“I am,” said Jenny, and gave him a playful smile back. “Just—” She hesitated. “Did you tell Angel?” she asked.

Giles thought of the way Jenny’s jaw had set as Angel had broken her fingers, one by one, and couldn’t bring himself to feel any sort of pride when he replied, “No.”

Jenny looked pleased and so proud. Proud enough for both of them, really. But then her smile faded a bit and said, “I think he’s close to figuring it out.”

“That’s impossible,” said Giles with conviction.

Jenny frowned slightly. “Why?” she asked.

Giles felt a strange sensation of  _wrongness_ at that question. He remembered researching with Jenny, the way she’d beamed at him victoriously upon finding the ritual before him—or did he? Was it a memory placed by Drusilla to keep him from helping Jenny now? Better than the alternative, where this was the trick and Jenny was lying injured on the floor in front of him. He’d been certain that it wasn’t real, anyway, because Jenny didn’t get hurt. That wouldn’t happen, not if he could stop it. 

“Tell me what to do,” said Jenny, gentle and placating, one hand moving to cup his face with unbroken fingers, and Giles made his decision.

“Get Angel away from Acathla,” he directed her quietly. 

“Angel himself?” said Jenny slowly. “He’s the key?”

“His blood,” Giles explained. “He mustn’t—”

“Shhh,” said Jenny, her voice a soft, reassuring murmur, and leaned in, kissing him tenderly. Giles was still tied to the chair, or he’d have pulled her close, but she seemed to know what he wanted, because she deepened the kiss and cupped his face in her hands. 

He lost himself in that kiss. He didn’t remember the last time he’d felt this relieved and happy, knowing that Jenny was safe, and alive—

And she was pulling away. Except it wasn’t Jenny. The hands now dropping from his face had sharp, delicately painted nails, and the fingers were sallower than they should be. “Sorry,” said Drusilla to someone over her shoulder. “I was in the moment.” 

Giles’s relief and joy was replaced, gradually, by an awful horror. 

“We’re finished here,” said Angelus in a self-satisfied kind of way. “How about we clear out and start on the ritual? Spike?”

Spike nodded slowly, turning his wheelchair to leave. Drusilla left Giles with a little pat on the shoulder, and then the vampires were gone, and Giles was tied to a chair facing the near-lifeless figure of the woman he loved. 

This was his fault. The world was going to end because of him, Jenny was all but dead because of him, and her bravery and sacrifice would come to absolutely nothing because he wasn’t strong enough. For all his worries about  _her_ not being strong enough, it had ended up being him who had given in. He couldn’t imagine Jenny being tricked like he had, and he couldn’t imagine— _if_ they lived through this—that Jenny would be able to forgive him for what he’d done to her.

It occurred to him, suddenly, that Drusilla must have tried the same trick on Jenny first. That was why she’d cradled Jenny in her arms, murmured to her, kissed her fingers, and it  _hadn’t worked._ Giles knew that he should be proud of Jenny, but all he could think about was how Jenny had been concussed and half-dead and she’d  _still_ been stronger than him. 

Giles pulled half-heartedly at the ropes, not entirely caring whether or not he got out. It wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t save Jenny, nor would it erase the fact that he had just given the world a death sentence. 

Jenny stirred on the floor. “Rupert?” she murmured, barely audible.

Giles remembered, abruptly, why he cared so much about the world. “ _Jenny,_ ” he said with weak relief. Jenny tried to pull herself up, and he added hastily, “Stay still, love, you’re hurt.”

Jenny ignored him, face set in determination as she moved towards him. Without a word, she placed her hands over his wrists, fingers curling awkwardly around the ropes. “I’m okay,” she said, her voice small and clear. She didn’t seem entirely aware of her surroundings; her eyes were glazed. Giles suspected it was the concussion. “Do the ropes hurt?”

“No,” said Giles, who would say anything if it would get Jenny to lie down and not exert herself any more than she had to. “I’m fine. I’ll get out in a minute. Stay still, darling.”

Jenny shook her head distantly. “Have to get you out,” she explained, and began to tug at the ropes with her broken fingers. She bit her lip, as if trying to ignore the pain. 

“I’m  _fine,_ ” said Giles as firmly as he could manage.

Jenny looked up at him anxiously. “You’re not,” she said.

Before Giles could answer, the door banged open again. This time, however, it wasn’t Angelus; it was a worried-looking Xander. Regardless, the loud noise made Jenny visibly flinch and shrink inward. Seeing her reaction, Giles went from worrying about her to wondering if Xander would untie him fast enough for him to kill Angelus. 

“Kindly untie me, Xander,” said Giles sharply.

“Are you guys okay?” Xander asked anxiously.

“Peachy,” said Jenny, and raised a broken hand to wave. Xander’s eyes went to Jenny’s scratched face and broken fingers, and his face went pale.

“ _Untie_ me,” said Giles fiercely.

Xander hurried over to oblige. His hands were shaking badly. “Jeez, these ropes are tight,” he commented in the playful, nervous tone of voice he used when things were too serious for him. He tugged at a knot, and the ropes loosened enough for Giles to finally pull free. 

Ignoring the rope burns, he moved to Jenny, cupping her face in one hand. She uttered a hiss of pain as his thumb grazed the beginnings of another bruise on her cheek, but she still leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering shut. Giles said her name, softly, forgetting about absolutely everything but the fact that she was alive.

Jenny opened her eyes, coughed up a surprising amount of blood, and fell forward into his arms.

* * *

No one noticed Xander and Giles hurrying out of the mansion at a run, the latter carrying a semi-conscious Ms. Calendar and doing his best not to jostle her. Lucky that Buffy and Angel seemed to be involved in some sort of sword fight already, because Xander was  _really_ feeling the desire to kick Angel’s ass at the moment.

“Did you drive here?” Giles asked Xander, his words sounding brusquer than usual. Xander could see Ms. Calendar's hand gripping Giles's sleeve. “Is there a car?”

“Yeah, Cordy lent me her car,” Xander replied, “but we have to be  _really_ careful not to scratch it, or she’ll probably—”

Giles gave Xander a very pointed look, then looked down at Ms. Calendar in his arms, then said sharply, “Yes, Xander, we shall drive as carefully as humanly possible, and obey all speed limits, and Cordelia will be quite pleased that we prioritized her car over Jenny’s life.” 

Xander nodded. “Right,” he said distantly. “Yeah. Sorry. I just—this is a lot. There’s a lot going on right now.”

“Give me the keys,” said Giles, ignoring Xander’s apology.

“You can’t drive and hold Ms. Calendar,” Xander pointed out. “Look, Giles, I’m sorry. I’ll drive you as fast as you need to go.”

“As fast as the car  _can_ go,” Giles corrected tersely.

Ms. Calendar coughed again, and the fury in Giles’s face dissipated instantly as he looked at her. He brushed his lips against her forehead and shifted her slightly in his arms.

Xander was very tempted to let Giles drive Ms. Calendar to the hospital and go beat up Angel himself, regardless of whether Buffy already had the situation under control. There was something really awful about feeling this powerless. And sure, he had his share of inferiority complexes; when you’ve got a Slayer and a genius and a demon-summoning Watcher on your side, it was a little hard  _not_ to feel like you couldn’t do much. But he knew he could  _help_ them, at least, and here he couldn’t do anything besides drive Ms. Calendar to the hospital and hope she didn’t die on the way.

“I’m going to kill him,” he said out loud.

He was expecting Giles to reprimand him, the way he had in the library that day they’d found out about the ritual and Xander had brushed them off. But when he looked up at Giles, he saw a steely anger at Angelus instead of a tired exasperation at Xander, and that was somehow the scariest thing he’d seen all day.


	7. composed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in one day?? chalk this up to me being overly happy about finally finishing the chapter i've been working on for like. this entire thanksgiving break.

“Hey,” said Xander, sitting down next to Giles.

Giles looked at him without saying anything.

“Uh, so, the doctor lady said you have to get into some clean clothes and take a shower if you want to see her,” Xander continued awkwardly. “Health reasons.”

Giles didn’t budge from the chair.

“Also, Willow’s worried, and I,” Xander looked down, “I think she’d feel better if she saw you. Probably without the blood on your shirt.”

“It’s not my blood,” said Giles distantly.

“Yeah, I know,” Xander replied quietly. “I saw.” He sat down in the chair next to Giles, looking around the waiting room for some kind of inane conversation topic. “You see the football game last week?” he said finally.

“No,” said Giles, which was a mark of how disturbed he was, because usually in situations like these he was very ready to call Xander out for talking about sports on a serious occasion.

“You planning on changing your clothes?” Xander continued carefully.

Giles didn’t seem to hear him. “How long will it take for them to let us in?” he asked, and there was a note of vulnerability in his voice that scared Xander a little. He was used to Giles being the grown-up, even when times got tough. Giles wasn’t one to act shaken, or frightened, or lost, and it was unnerving to realize that Xander was the calm one in this situation.

“I don’t know,” said Xander honestly. “I think you should change your clothes first.” He dug in his backpack, taking out one of his dad’s shirts. “I didn’t have a key to your apartment, so—”

Giles took the shirt without even looking at it. “I’ll go change,” he said, and got up, hurrying to the men’s room.

Xander sat there, alone, feeling a very complicated mixture of emotions. Worry for Giles, who still wouldn’t talk about what Angelus had done. Anger at Angel (not Angelus, _Angel_ ), for doing this to them, for hurting Giles and Ms. Calendar and Buffy just because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Which wasn’t entirely fair, since Angel hadn’t known about the repercussions, but then Angel wasn’t the one who was going to have to deal with the aftermath of what he’d caused. If anything, he’d show up all broody again and go back to making out with Buffy.

The most prevalent feeling he had was horror. He couldn’t forget the way Ms. Calendar had looked, bruised and battered and still trying to free Giles. And it was good that she was alive. It was _great_ that she was alive. But that didn’t erase the fact that, for the first time, it had been one of the Scoobies who had had a serious brush with death.

Giles came back from the men’s room. It was weird to see him wearing Xander’s dad’s old sweater. “Any news?” he asked, even though he’d only been gone for, like, thirty seconds.

Xander shook his head. “Not yet.”

“Hey!”

Cordelia’s voice cut through the somber stillness of the waiting room, and Xander felt a sort of warmth at that. It was comforting that _something_ stayed the same, he thought, and he stood up, hurrying across the room to hug her quickly. Another thing that showed the awfulness of the situation; Cordelia didn’t pull away, choosing instead to meet him in the middle, wrap her arms around his neck, and hug him back. Or maybe that wasn’t so unusual, but he’d consider that later.

Cordelia pulled away slightly to look at him. “Willow’s freaking out,” she said.

“Huh?”

“We, um,” Cordelia looked down a little guiltily, “we pushed her wheelchair over to Ms. Calendar’s room, and the nurse said that no one could come in to see Ms. Calendar yet, and now Willow’s freaking out. And it doesn’t help that no one knows where Buffy’s at. Do you know where Buffy’s at?”

“No one can see her yet?” Giles repeated from across the room.

“No, I don’t,” said Xander, feeling the beginnings of worry. He wasn’t sure whether it was related to the news about Buffy or Ms. Calendar. Probably both. “But the world didn’t end yet, right? So we should be good.”

“No one can see her yet _,_ ” said Giles again, very shakily.

“Hold on,” Xander added, and gave Cordelia a quick kiss before hurrying over to Giles. “Look, they usually don’t let anyone in for a while. Check-ups and setting bandages and all that.”

“You guys couldn’t come see Buffy until the next day when she had the flu, right?” Oz put in.

“Yeah, exac—hold on, where’d you come from?” Xander turned to look at Oz in surprise.

“I think Willow needs to talk to Giles,” said Oz. “It might calm her down a little to see that he’s okay.”

“He’s not,” said Xander, who was a bit unnerved at the fact that all of a sudden _he_ was the one in charge. He wished Willow were out of bed and bossing everyone around. That would be a lot more comforting, honestly. “Look, I’ll go talk to Willow. Cordy, Oz, can you guys stay with Giles?”

“Sure,” Cordelia replied, sitting down next to Giles in the chair Xander had vacated. Xander gave her a small, thankful smile, and felt a funny little flutter when Cordelia returned it. Nodding to Oz, he turned and hurried in the direction of Willow’s room.

Willow was sitting in her wheelchair. She looked up when Xander came in, which was a relief; after thirty minutes of dealing with a barely-there Giles, it was nice to feel noticed. “Hi,” she said in a soft, small voice.

Xander sat down in the chair next to Willow’s bed. “How’re you feeling?”

“Scared,” said Willow frankly, wheeling over until she was in front of him. “Xander, what happened to Ms. Calendar?”

Xander hesitated. “I don’t know,” he said finally. “I barely saw her. Giles wouldn’t let go of her until we reached the hospital, and even then it took like five minutes of convincing from the nurses.” He considered his statement, then, “When I say _barely saw her,_ I mean that I had ten seconds of seeing her before I had to untie Giles.”

“And what did you see?” Willow asked, in the way of a person who didn’t exactly want to know the answer.

“Angelus broke some bones,” said Xander slowly. “And, uh, bit her.”

“Bit her?” Willow’s voice went to that high, anxious place that could probably shatter a window. “Like _bit her_ bit her? When? Is she a vampire? I mean I know she's not if she's at a human hospital but _why didn't anyone tell me?_ ”

“I was kind of busy dealing with Giles,” Xander explained a little guiltily. “I didn’t tell anyone until now. I don’t even know if Cordelia knows.”

The knowledge that she was the first person he’d told seemed to calm Willow a little. “Okay,” she said. “I just—Xander, she’s going to be okay, right?”

Xander didn’t particularly like everyone suddenly turning to him for the answer, especially when even on a good day he didn’t know the right one. But Willow was his best friend, and he wanted her to feel secure, so he said, “Yeah, I think so.”

Willow gave him a wobbly smile and said, “You’re just trying to make me feel better, aren’t you?”

“A little,” Xander replied, and smiled tentatively back. “It working?”

“A little.”

Cordelia came in, then, followed by Giles and Oz, and sat down on Willow’s bed. “I pointed out that this is closer to Ms. Calendar’s room than the waiting room,” she explained quietly to Xander.

“Are you all right?” said Giles suddenly to Willow.

Willow blinked, startled. Then, with a little smile, “I’m doing better. You?”

“Right,” said Giles distantly, still standing there like he wasn’t quite sure what he was doing. Xander decided to give him the chair, and got up, sitting down on the bed next to Cordelia. Giles gave him the ghost of a smile and sat down.

There was a somewhat strained silence, then. It was like the waiting room, but somehow worse, because being with all the remaining Scoobies only made it more glaringly obvious who was missing from their group. No Ms. Calendar, standing next to Giles and drinking a cup of hospital coffee. No Buffy, lounging on the bed and playfully teasing Willow about something or other.

“I think I’ll go check with the doctor again,” Giles said suddenly, and stood up from the chair, leaving the room.

“Should someone go with him?” Willow asked a bit anxiously. “He seems pretty out of it.”

Xander shook his head slightly. “I think he needs some time alone,” he said.

* * *

_Broken ribs, broken fingers, broken wrist, concussion, bite mark._ Giles leaned heavily against the wall, the list of injuries somewhat akin to a song stuck in his head. It wouldn’t go away. This was his fault, and it had come to nothing. Jenny would wake up and see that the world hadn’t ended, and smile at him with a bright, proud look in her eyes, and he would have to tell her that she’d been tortured for nothing. He’d given in. He hadn’t cared about the world for a second.

There was a childish part of him saying that maybe he didn’t care about the world _now_ , not if it could do something like this to someone like Jenny. He knew, logically, that he was being ridiculous and unreasonable to think that, but then he remembered the way Jenny’s broken fingers had curled around the ropes, attempting to comfort him. The way she’d said _you’re going to be okay_ as if that was all that really mattered to her. Angelus had broken her, slowly, in front of him, and a world that would let that happen to Jenny, who kissed him on the nose and brushed butterfly kisses against his cheek, who was the first person to look at him as the man she loved before the Watcher he had to be, wasn’t a world he wanted to care about.

Giles adjusted the sleeves of the sweater he was wearing. The children hadn’t noticed the rope burns, and he didn’t intend for them to. Turning to look at himself in the glass of a hospital window, he nodded to himself. Composed, dignified, calm. He would check in with the nurse, he would learn the closest place to wait for Jenny, he would stay there until further notice.

He began to walk down the hallway, but was stopped by one of the doctors. “Mr. Giles?” she said.

Giles remembered Jenny’s halting, fluttering breaths against his chest and found it much more difficult to remain composed than he’d been initially anticipating. “Yes?” he said shakily.

“We’ve bandaged up Ms. Calendar and she’s currently resting,” said the doctor. “It’d be best if she only had one visitor at a time, but if she’s still sleeping in fifteen minutes, I think I’ll allow the children who came in with you to visit her as well. They seem pretty concerned.”

Giles nodded vaguely, only hearing the first sentence with complete clarity. “May I see her?” he asked.

The doctor nodded. “This way, please,” she said, leading him down the hallway and into another room, smaller than Willow’s.

Jenny was lying propped up against quite a lot of pillows, eyes closed. Giles felt a rush of dizzying relief at the sight of her; part of him had been all but convinced that if he’d look away from her for a moment, she’d die, and he wouldn’t be able to stop it. Perhaps it was the hours spent watching her with Angelus’s threat hanging over his head.

He sat down in the chair next to her bed, reached out and took her small, elegant hand. The fingers were bandaged and splinted, her broken wrist in a cast. Lightly, he kissed her fingertips.

Jenny flinched in her sleep.

Giles felt a worse twist of guilt at that. Letting Jenny’s hand drop, he scooted the chair back. He wondered if she would even want to see him when she awoke.


	8. unnervingly normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, it's been a while. next chapter should be coming relatively soon...hopefully i'll get back in the writing groove now that finals stuff has let up a little.

It was a very, very long few hours. Oz got an Uno deck and they all played, which felt unnervingly normal when Ms. Calendar was barely alive somewhere in this hospital, but it passed the time. Xander sat next to Cordelia, and Cordelia leaned her head against Xander’s shoulder and didn’t say a single mean thing to anyone. Willow couldn’t find it in herself to be resentful of Xander’s arm around Cordelia’s waist. There wasn’t a place for resentment today.

She missed Buffy. There was an empty space next to her. This time of day, Buffy got sleepy and snuggly and rested her head against Willow’s shoulder, complaining about how she’d have to patrol at some point.

After a while, Cordelia found the TV remote, and handed it to Willow in an unusual gesture of goodwill (or maybe it was because Willow still had the little bandage above her left eyebrow, a reminder of her serious injury), and they watched some of those lame kids’ cartoons for a while before Cordelia went to go get some snacks. Willow rested her head against Oz’s shoulder and tried to fall asleep, because that might make waiting easier, but all she could think about was Ms. Calendar’s reassuring smile in the library.

_You’re going to be fine._

The thing is, Willow really didn’t feel fine. Not just _a-bookshelf-nearly-crushed-me-to-death_ not-fine, although that one was a big one too; Ms. Calendar was hurt. Willow hadn’t ever thought Ms. Calendar _could_ get hurt. That was like Giles getting hurt, or Buffy. Things like that didn’t happen, and the fact that it _had_ terrified Willow a little.

Willow closed her eyes. Oz was stroking her hair, and she wanted to go to sleep. Probably best for her brain, too, what with the concussion and all. She could hear Oz humming softly to her, and the voices coming from the television, and footsteps coming into the room, and Cordelia’s voice saying, “So! I just checked in with Giles real quick.”

Willow jerked her head up so fast that she felt a slight pain behind her eyes. Oz’s hand caught briefly in her hair, and Xander said something like “Easy, Will,” but she ignored them both. “Is she okay?” she asked in a high voice. “Why isn’t Giles telling us himself?”

“She’s fine!” Cordelia said brightly. Her smile faded slightly. “I mean, in the injured kind of way, but she’ll live. She’s resting. She can take visitors, but Giles didn’t come tell us because he doesn’t want to leave her, and he got _super_ mad when I came in because he wasn’t sure if Ms. Calendar could handle it, but Ms. Calendar’s totally asleep right now so I feel like he was wigging out for no _real_ reason when—”

“She’s going to be fine,” Willow finished, and felt a little smile drift across her face. Then, “Wait, Cordelia, how long has Giles been with Ms. Calendar?”

“I don’t know,” said Cordelia with a little shrug. “He seemed pretty out of it. I think he’s been there for at least an hour.”

Willow considered this. It wasn’t very likely that Giles was going to be in any condition to take care of himself when he was so worried about Ms. Calendar. Scooting out of her bed and towards the wheelchair, she inquired of Cordelia, “Do you have any snack money left?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Cordelia replied. “Why?”

“Giles probably hasn’t eaten anything since yesterday,” Willow explained. “I think I should get him some food.”

“I think that’s not the best idea,” said Xander suddenly. Willow looked at him in surprise, and he elaborated, “Look, not to rain on your parade, Will, but maybe someone who _didn’t_ get hit with a bookcase twelve hours ago should be the one getting up and getting snacks. You need rest.”

“I’m with Xander on this one,” Oz commented, not unkindly.

“I’ll be fine!” Willow gave them her best winning smile.

“Isn’t that what Ms. Calendar said?” said Xander pointedly.

Willow stopped smiling. “Xander, that’s low,” she said.

“I know, I just—” Xander got up off the bed, sitting down in a chair nearby, and said to the floor, “I’m worried.”

“But you don’t _have_ to be. Neither of you do.” Willow slid carefully off the bed, getting into her wheelchair. “Ms. Calendar is my favorite teacher,” she said. “I’m the only one she trusts enough to let take over her class. I’m sure I’d be the one she’d trust to make sure Giles is okay, if Buffy’s not here to do it, and I think Buffy would want me to do this too.”

“Actually, I’m pretty sure they’d both want you to rest,” Cordelia pointed out.

Willow gave her a look.

“Just get back in the bed, Will,” said Xander, still not looking up. “Please.”

“No,” said Willow emphatically. “Giles needs someone, and I’m well enough to help him.” She wheeled her chair out of the room, unsure if no one stopped her because of her assertiveness or because everyone was just something of a mess at the moment. She was leaning towards the latter.

She spent some time deliberating over snack choices. Pretzels would be salty and not all that filling, and besides which Giles didn’t seem too big on them anyway. Plus Ms. Calendar loved things like pretzels and chips, so maybe that would just make Giles think of Ms. Calendar and worry more? Or something like that? Willow wasn’t sure what the protocol was when it came to giving a grieving person snacks. Giles wasn’t grieving, though, because Ms. Calendar wasn’t dead. And she wouldn’t be dead. She’d be fine. She’d be _fine._

Willow sort of punched the vending machine a little and started crying. More of a Xander move than a Willow move, but she was _really_ upset and she didn’t want to cry in front of everyone else. This wasn’t _fair._ If it was Buffy who had gotten hurt, she’d be better already. If it was Giles, he would be awake, at least, and he’d be completely okay, because Ms. Calendar would be taking care of him. If it was _anyone_ other than Ms. Calendar, they’d have Giles helping _everyone_ and making sure no one was hiding in the hallway crying by a vending machine, but taking out Ms. Calendar took out Giles by extension. Angelus had probably known that.

She wondered if she’d forgive Angel, when he came back. She wasn’t completely sure if she even wanted to see him again. 

* * *

Giles couldn’t bring himself to touch Jenny again, not after the reaction he’d gotten the first time. He knew he shouldn’t take it personally; he had, after all, seen Drusilla kiss Jenny’s fingertips, and he was certain that somewhere in that terrifying haze of a night, Angelus had done the same. Details of the actual acts of torture eluded him, mostly because it was Jenny’s determined expression and the way she bit her lip that he had noticed the most.

There was a cut on her lip, now. She’d broken the skin.

It was its own form of torture, sitting so close to her, remembering with such clarity what had been done to her, and not being strong enough to hold her or comfort her. Not that she needed comfort when she was unconscious, but perhaps it might be comforting to him to know that he could do something to help her. He hated knowing that Jenny’s safety and security wasn’t something he could guarantee her when they loved each other. Perhaps it would be easier for them both if they didn’t.

The door opened. Giles turned, sharply, halfway to blocking Jenny from possible attacks, before he realized that it was Willow. “Oh,” he said. “Is there—did you want something?”

Willow shook her head, then nodded, then said, “Have you eaten anything since this morning?”

“Morning?” Giles repeated distantly.

“It’s two in the afternoon,” Willow explained. She looked over at Jenny in the bed, and swallowed hard, as though steeling herself.

“Ah,” said Giles, not entirely sure how this conversation pertained to Jenny. He turned back to the bed.

“Giles.” Willow wheeled fully into the room, stopping next to him and handing him a granola bar. “You have to eat _something._ ”

Giles might have been touched by Willow’s concern for him under different circumstances. Circumstances, most likely, where the woman he loved wasn’t in a hospital bed for no good reason whatsoever. “I will,” he said, mostly to make Willow go away.

Willow nodded, mouth set in a firm little line, eyes somehow managing to be soft and determined at the same time. “Good,” she said. “I’ll just stick around until you do.”

Giles hadn’t exactly been anticipating this. Besides which, he wasn’t all that hungry. But he wanted to be alone with Jenny more than he wanted to discard the granola bar, so he reluctantly unwrapped it, taking a bite and swallowing quickly.

It had raisins in it, and it wasn’t iced; Willow really had made efforts to find him one he would like. Giles looked fully at Willow for the first time, and saw the concern in her eyes. Somewhere along the line, he realized, the Scooby Gang had become a family, and it was strange that he hadn’t thought about it until now. “Thank you,” he said with quiet affection.

Willow gave him a wobbly smile in return. “You want me to stay?” she asked. “I can stay.”

Giles shrugged noncommittally and went back to studying Jenny’s face. He heard Willow’s chair moving, and then he felt a small hand resting on top of his own.

“She’s going to be okay,” she said with conviction.

“I—” Giles felt suddenly dizzy, and without thinking, he said, “I don’t know what I’ll do if she’s not.”

Willow was quiet. He didn’t think she had anything to say to that. He regretted being honest with her; he wanted her to feel like there was some adult in her life who was going to be able to keep themselves together and keep her safe. But then Jenny had always been better at that than him.

There was a rustle from the bed, and Jenny rolled onto her side, eyes fluttering open.

“Ms. _Calendar!_ ” Willow jumped up from the wheelchair without thinking, reeled a little, and sat back down again, letting go of Giles’s hand to roll over to the bed. Giles realized that he should get up, knew that Jenny was looking at him and not Willow, but something kept him frozen to the chair; some mixture of guilt and fear that she wouldn’t want him there.

“Hi,” said Jenny, her voice barely a murmur. All of Giles’s self-doubt and carefully constructed composure fell away when she reached out, hand extending in his direction.

He didn’t—couldn’t—say a word as he hurried to her side, letting her take his hand with her splinted fingers. He distantly felt Willow pat his elbow, heard the sound of her quietly leaving the room, and when he was sure that she was gone he pulled Jenny into a tight hug.

Jenny hugged him back, albeit a little clumsily what with the cast on her arm, and said, “I’m a little out of it, honey, so maybe a little less of a death grip.”

“Right,” said Giles, who was most certainly crying. “Yes. Sorry.” He pulled away, looking at her, and she reached up, clumsily straightening his glasses even with her broken fingers.

“ _God,_ it’s good to hold you,” Jenny murmured, and kissed him.

The guilt could, Giles deliberated, wait until later.


	9. vanilla yogurt

“So I did some research,” said Willow, coming in and sitting down on the bed next to Jenny. “Apparently yogurt’s really good for broken ribs? I got you one of the fruit-on-the-bottom ones plus a fruit-flavored one. I wasn’t sure which one you’d like. Or do you want a plain one?”

“No, this is great.” Jenny gave Willow a reassuring smile and took one of the containers from her. “Thank you. How’s everyone?”

“Xander failed his math final,” said Willow ruefully. “I think the teacher’s letting him do it over. Something about _trauma affecting his academic performance,_ but I think he just didn’t study.” She leaned back against the pillows a little, scooting closer to Jenny. “Cordelia said she’d help him, but I’m not sure if that’s going to do all that much.”

“Cordelia tests pretty well,” Jenny pointed out. “She’s got a high B in my class.”

“ _Really?”_ said Willow a little disbelievingly. “I mean, not to be judgy or anything, but _Cordelia_ has a B? I once told her that the ‘deliver’ key would save her program and she _believed_ me.” She hesitated, then, “Are you sure she’s not cheating at all?”

“I tutored her a little at the beginning of the year, remember?” Jenny reminded Willow with an amused smile. “Right before a demon possessed me and I almost killed everyone?”

“Oooh, yeah,” Willow agreed. “Guess the _tutoring_ thing got overshadowed by the whole _demon possession_ thing.”

“Guess it did.” Jenny fumbled with the yogurt before realizing that she couldn’t really handle a spoon with broken fingers. Carefully, she placed the container down next to her. “You almost done with your makeup finals?”

Before Willow could answer, Rupert came in, looking his usual brand of tense and upset as of late. _“Hey,_ ” said Jenny, and smiled brightly at him, scooting over a little on the bed to make room. It made her feel a little better to see Rupert’s eyes soften when he looked at her.

“I can move—” Willow began a little nervously. Jenny placed a calming hand on Willow’s arm, and saw in her peripheral vision that Willow had to duck her head in an attempt to hide the little grin on her face. “Okay,” she said, and settled back into the pillows.

Rupert sat down, almost kissed her, seemed to remember that Willow was also there, and had to change it into a cheek kiss midway. “How are you?” he asked.

“Peachy,” Jenny replied cheerfully, meaning it. There was a strange flicker that went across Rupert’s face at that word, which she made a mental note to ask him about later. “You?”

“I’m afraid I have some bad news to deliver,” Rupert replied quietly, looking up at Jenny and Willow.

“Is it—about Buffy?” Willow asked anxiously.

“Right in one.” Rupert smiled in a way that didn’t look at all happy. “Mrs. Summers informed me that she hasn’t seen Buffy since—well, since Acathla, and she thought I might have some clue as to her whereabouts.”

“So even Buffy’s mom doesn’t know where Buffy is?” said Willow in a high voice.

“Breathe,” said Jenny gently to Willow.

“ _No_ one has so much as _seen_ Buffy since that night,” Rupert clarified somewhat dismally.

“Has anyone checked with her dad?” Willow continued to inquire, looking incredibly upset. “Did they call him? Did they call her grandma? I think she has a grandma in Arizona—or no, wait, maybe that’s Oz—no, that’s definitely Oz, but someone should call Buffy’s grandma or maybe she has an aunt or—”

“ _Breathe,_ ” said Jenny, turning to Willow and giving her the best firm-yet-compassionate look she could muster. “Panicking is definitely not good with a concussion. I speak from experience.” She tried not to notice the sad look on Rupert’s face when she said that. “Look, can you get me some more yogurt? Do they have vanilla?”

“They have vanilla,” said Willow miserably.

“Okay, so why don’t you get me some vanilla, and get Giles some plain yogurt or something boring like that,” Jenny said, placing her hands over Willow’s. It was a little awkward and unwieldy with the splints on her fingers, but she managed. “And maybe get something healthy for Xander, because I don’t know if he’s eating anything but junk food without anyone to pay attention to him. Okay?”

“Sure,” Willow replied, and half-smiled at Jenny. It wasn’t quite the grin she’d had when she first came in, but it was something. She clambered off the bed and walked out; she no longer needed her wheelchair to walk short distances, which was definitely a good sign.

As soon as the door had shut behind Willow, Jenny turned to Rupert. “You need to eat too, you know,” she said. “And you definitely need to leave the hospital at some point. I’m pretty sure that’s still Xander’s dad’s sweater you’re wearing.”

“I love you,” said Rupert, in the sort of way that made it very clear that he hadn’t heard a word she had said.

“ _Rupert,_ ” said Jenny reprovingly. “If you don’t eat—”

“I don’t know where Buffy is,” said Rupert. His voice broke. “If he started the ritual, i-if she had to kill him, it’s all my fault.”

“I mean, not unless he knew about the ritual, which I—” Jenny began lightly.

Rupert looked up at her as though he could barely manage to meet her eyes.

“Oh,” said Jenny.

There was a long, painful silence, and then Rupert said, “I was meaning to tell you—”

“No, I know,” said Jenny. Her voice sounded the way it had when he’d met her in the hallway after Eyghon. She wished it didn’t, what with Rupert looking so hurt.

“Should I—”

“Give me a second, okay?”

Rupert nodded, and nodded, and got up off the bed, hurrying out of the room. Jenny almost wanted to tell him to come back, but couldn’t find it in her to call to him.

She wasn’t angry at him. Not really. She understood that he’d tried, and she knew that he’d done what he had to do, and he was definitely feeling guilty about it if he hadn’t told her straight-out. But it was difficult for her to realize that everything she had gone through hadn’t done anything to stop Angelus from getting what he wanted.

Or—had it, really? Jenny looked around. There was sunlight streaming through the window, and a bouquet of fresh flowers that she was pretty sure Xander had picked from Cordelia’s front yard. The pillows behind her were warm and her blankets smelled clean. The world hadn’t ended, and no one was being eternally tormented. And yeah, apparently Angelus _had_ gotten the information he wanted, but he clearly hadn’t gotten it when he needed it. She took a few minutes, collecting herself, rethinking every aspect of the situation from every angle, but the conclusion was always the same.

“Rupert?” she called, somewhat tentatively.

There was a series of crashes from outside, and then Rupert came in looking horribly embarrassed. “I—ah—knocked over some medical equipment trying to get in here,” he said nervously.

Jenny loved him. “Come here,” she said, and patted the bed next to her. “The world didn’t end.”

“No,” said Rupert, and didn’t smile, “but he got what he wanted.”

“But Rupert, _the world didn’t end_ ,” Jenny persisted.

“I don’t care,” said Rupert with an unusually childish sort of forcefulness. “I don’t—he _hurt_ you. He hurt you and I just _watched,_ and I should have stopped it for all the good it did—”

“And he would have ended the world too early for Buffy to get there,” Jenny reminded him.

“Buffy’s missing,” Rupert said shakily, “because she had to kill Angelus, and I don’t know where she is.”

Jenny pulled at his hands until he sat down, at which point she pulled him into her arms on the hospital bed. “You’re brave,” she informed him, “and you’re good. One of the best things to happen to this lame-ass town, actually, and I don’t say that ironically.”

Rupert gave her that flickery, nervous sort of half-smile he’d given her back when they were first getting to know each other and she’d say something that surprised him a little. He didn’t seem all the way present. “Jenny, I don’t think—”

“Quiet,” said Jenny, fixing him with a firm look. “We can do this, okay? We’ve got all summer to find Buffy, and my fingers are going to heal.”

“Broken bones don’t always heal correctly,” Rupert said quietly.

“Then I’ll eat yogurt for the calcium,” Jenny replied, and kissed him lightly. “And Buffy will come home. Okay?”

“Okay,” Rupert agreed, not sounding all the way convinced, but that was fine. Jenny had time to convince him.

* * *

“Okay, okay, no, they’re making out,” Willow announced to the rest of the Scoobies, shutting the door very fast with a horrified expression on her face. “Does anyone want vanilla yogurt?”


	10. top priority

Jenny had a nightmare regarding Angelus that night. Not that Rupert knew about it, of course; she wasn’t going to worry him any more than she needed to. She had practice with nightmares, and even more practice with hiding them from Rupert (thank you, Eyghon), so it was easy to wake up, stifle a gasp, and curl into Rupert, who was lying on the other side of the bed.

He woke up, eyes soft and bleary, and reached for her, one hand lightly cupping her face. “All right?” he inquired quietly.

“Mmm,” said Jenny, and forced a smile, moving forward a bit to brush her lips to his. “Go to sleep, babe.”

Rupert nodded vaguely and pulled her into him. Jenny felt warmed by this, and wrapped her arms around his waist as he kissed the top of her head. He mumbled some vague endearment before drifting back to sleep, leaving Jenny alone.

Or, no, not alone. She had Rupert with his arms around her, and that couldn’t really be classified as _alone_ by any definition. But it was easier to be afraid at night, and there was no chance in hell that she’d tell Rupert she might be worried. He had enough suppressed trauma he was dealing with, and she wasn’t going to add her own baggage to the mix.

She didn’t want him to end up working himself to death trying to protect her, especially when it was clear that he was already doing that even _without_ her being noticeably shaken by what Angelus had done. The more of these situations she got in, the more he was going to worry, and it wouldn’t make it any easier if she was depending on him. Besides which, being independent was why he’d loved her in the first place.

Jenny was satisfied with this conclusion, and she wasn’t. It really didn’t feel like there was any other option, though, so she cuddled into Rupert and breathed in, trying to believe that she was safe.

She curled her fingers around his wrist—

* * *

_“Isn’t that cute?” Angelus’s fingertip stroked her cheek. “You know you’ll never be safe from me, don’t you? Not even when I’m all tied down with your little curse. First thing I do, when I come back? I’m going to rip you limb from limb, and I’m going to make him watch.”_

_One of his hands moved to Jenny’s throat, almost a parody of a gentle caress. She could feel the power in the gesture. His eyes were glinting, his face changing, and he carefully moved her hair aside, eyes fixed on her neck._

_“I was planning on snapping your neck, did you know that?” he commented. “I should have killed you that night at the school.”_

_Jenny was supposed to be strong. She was supposed to be strong. But she wasn’t, here, she was too frightened to move or scream or remember to keep herself composed. She had never lost control like this and she—_

* * *

—woke up when Rupert was opening the curtains, morning light streaming through into the hospital room.

Jenny managed to stop herself from sitting up too fast; cracked ribs and all that. She tightened her grip on the bedcovers and tried to regulate her breathing.

A small, irrational part of her was almost hurt that Rupert hadn’t noticed anything was wrong, but then she’d gotten good at hiding things from him a long time ago. _What kind of relationship is that,_ she thought to herself, _if I’m hiding things from the one person I’m supposed to trust above all else?_ Rupert came over to the bed and kissed her good morning, soft and tender.

There was a tightness in Jenny’s chest that she remembered from the days before he knew why she’d come to Sunnydale. He shouldn’t kiss her like that when she couldn’t be honest with him about a little thing like a nightmare.

He pulled back, looking at her with a worried frown. “Jenny?” he said, and his voice didn’t have a single hint of anger in it. She hated how much he loved her. She was so afraid it would end up killing him.

“Can you get me some breakfast?” Jenny asked, mostly to buy herself some time alone. “I think I’m a little hungry.”

Rupert still didn’t look quite convinced (so, okay, maybe she had been wrong about him not noticing anything), but when her expression didn’t falter, he leaned down, cupped her face in his hands, and kissed her forehead before leaving the hospital room, leaving Jenny by herself.

“Okay,” she said out loud. Then again, for good measure, just to hear the sound of her own voice. “Okay.” She ran a hand through her hair, and the splints snagged, fingers catching in her hair as she tried to tug them loose.

She wished she knew where Buffy was, or Angel, or hell, even Angelus. No one had told her anything about what had happened to Angelus, only that Buffy wasn’t there and neither was he. It could be assumed that Buffy had killed him to save the world, but there was also the possibility that Buffy had chased Angelus off before he could even start the ritual. And Jenny didn’t particularly like that possibility.

Of course, if Angelus were actually still alive (dead? Living dead?), he’d definitely have gone for Jenny first, what with that vendetta he seemed to have against her for the work she’d done to essentially imprison him. Or maybe he was biding his time. He was like that, sometimes—

The door opened, and Jenny shrunk involuntarily against the pillows. Rupert’s eyes widened.

“Sorry,” she said, a ridiculous panic rising in her. “Sorry, I—you startled me. I wasn’t expecting you to be back—so soon.”

Rupert placed the breakfast tray down on the floor and hurried over to her, stroking her cheek with the tip of his thumb. Reminded of her nightmare, Jenny wanted to move away, but forced herself to stay there and lean into his touch. She was okay. And if she wasn’t okay, pretending would get her there eventually.

“If you needed some time alone,” he began.

“Have you changed your clothes?” Jenny interrupted him, because she sort of _did_ need some time alone, but it was much easier to worry about how long Rupert had been with her in the hospital.

He hadn’t once left the building, at least as far as she knew. He even stayed nights. Not that she wasn’t _grateful,_ because she was beginning to think that she was more afraid than she’d like anyone to know, but having him around was another set of worries when she knew she was his top priority, even above his own health. And as it happened, Rupert’s health was Jenny’s top priority, so there seemed to be some kind of a conflict of interest.

“I’m sorry?” Rupert looked completely confused by this.

“You should be taking care of yourself,” Jenny persisted, feeling relieved that Rupert was no longer focusing on her with that worried expression. She didn’t want his worry, she wanted him to stop for a moment and feel centered and unafraid. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Rupert looking anything but tense, not since Angelus.

Maybe _once._

Maybe that morning they woke up together, and Jenny looked over at him and realized that they really did love each other. She’d kissed him awake, and the way he’d smiled at her had made every day of work on that curse worth it. Seeing Rupert happy was more important to her than so many things. Not _everything_ —that would be pretty poor judgment—but _so,_ so many things.

“I don’t think I’m the one in the hospital bed with serious injuries,” Rupert replied, somewhat apprehensively. “I’ll take care of myself when you’re safe at home.”

“Well, check with the nurses,” Jenny replied smoothly. “Ask them when I’m well enough to leave. And if it’s now, we go now, and you shave and shower and change your clothes and get yourself some food that isn’t from a vending machine.”

“Jenny,” said Rupert, sounding half exasperated and half touched, “you don’t need to worry about me.”

Jenny was suddenly reminded of that night in her apartment, right after they’d gotten away from Angelus. Quietly, half-hoping he wouldn’t hear her, she said, “Then who will?”

Rupert’s expression changed slightly. “Darling,” he said, and she could tell by the tone of his voice that he was about to try and comfort her, which she _didn’t_ want at all.

“I need you to take care of yourself too,” Jenny informed him, somehow managing to keep her voice level and calm. “If you want me to be okay, you have to do that for me.”

“Of course,” Rupert agreed immediately. “Completely. I’ll—I’ll check with the nurses, and—”

“Okay.”

“Good.”

They shared a look. It didn’t feel exactly the same as it had the day before, and Jenny didn’t feel confident in Rupert’s ability to take care of himself. She wasn’t sure how to stop him worrying about her, but she was certain it wouldn’t help if she let him know she was having nightmares. He’d feel guilty, and it _wasn’t_ his fault.

* * *

It wasn’t the fact that Jenny was hurt that was most frightening to Giles. It was never really that, and he was only now realizing it as he headed down the hallway. It was easier to assume that he was worried she might die than consider the fact that he was worried about the way she handled trauma. She didn’t seem to be bothered at all by the fact that she’d been tortured and nearly killed by a murderous vampire; instead, she was asking about _him_ and trying to make sure _he_ was all right.

He was almost certain, now, that she was making a conscious effort to be strong for him, because she felt like he needed it, putting herself to the side because she thought appeasing his fears were more important. He didn’t know what he could do to help her anymore. She was shutting him out, and that was what was the most frightening aspect of all of this. He trusted her implicitly with so many things, but he wasn’t sure if he could trust her when she said she was all right.

“Mr. Giles?”

Giles stopped in his tracks, startled. Standing in front of him was none other than Quentin Travers.

“Mr. Travers, I—” Giles thought of Jenny, in the hospital bed, who he had conveniently neglected to mention to the Council. “What are you doing here?” he managed to nervously inquire.

“A Slayer is dead,” said Travers coldly. “She died here in Sunnydale, and another one has been chosen.”

For a moment, Giles’s world seemed to slow and stop. Not Buffy. They couldn’t possibly mean—

“Not only that, but the Slayer you have been training is nowhere to be found,” Travers continued, and Giles was almost ashamed at how relieved he was that Buffy was all right. The relief, however, was replaced by a gradual horror. _Kendra._ “I attempted to contact you, but you were unreachable. I might have sent one of my associates, if not for the fact that you are usually so prompt with your responses.”

“Then how did you find me here?” Giles asked slowly.

“When I inquired at the high school regarding your whereabouts,” Travers replied, “your employer seemed all too happy to rant and rave about your unprofessional and amorous workplace behavior with a young Ms. Calendar, who had been badly injured and hospitalized a few days prior to now.” He gave Giles a very pointed look. “I expect,” he said, “that your reports have been leaving some aspects out.”

“Well—” Giles began awkwardly.

“I have no interest in your personal relationships,” Travers talked over Giles, “as long as they are not interfering with your duties, which seems to be the case with this Ms. Calendar. I believe you and I need to discuss her role in your life.”


	11. watcher politics

Jenny fiddled with the hem of the bedspread. She hadn’t expected Rupert to take this long with the nurses, and she was wondering if he’d gone and done something rash. _What_ exactly he’d do when he seemed hell-bent on not leaving her alone longer than he had to, she wasn’t entirely sure, but this still seemed like a surprising amount of time for him to be gone.

It wasn’t like she was worried. She had no reason to be. It was daylight, and if anyone could protect themselves out of the Scoobies that were left (shit, no, don’t _think_ like that, Buffy just wasn’t _here_ ) it would definitely be him. Still, there was that awful tightness in her chest that Jenny had come to associate with stress, and she wasn’t sure why it was there when it didn’t have a reason to be.

Then it occurred to her that this was the first time she’d been alone for this long since she’d woken up, which led to a conclusion that Jenny _really_ didn’t like. She didn’t want to be so frightened that she couldn’t be alone for less than five minutes. That really took away from the whole independent-woman thing she’d been pushing on Rupert even as he worried about her. If he knew that he was even slightly right—well. He’d be sweet, and understanding, because he was Rupert, but Jenny still wasn’t sure if she would be able to admit to being wrong.

It didn’t matter, anyway, because he always hovered. It would be fine, and so would she, as soon as he came back. He’d do that thing he did when he came back into the room, where he sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled her into his arms, and it would all be _fine._

The hem of the bedspread ripped. She hadn’t realized she’d been pulling that hard at it.

The door opened. Jenny almost jumped, and felt a rush of relief when she saw it was Rupert. She felt a smile beginning, and was opening her mouth to say something ridiculously loving when Rupert said tensely, “Act natural and don’t tell him anything.”

“What?” said Jenny. It came out a bit higher and more panicked than she’d intended.

Rupert looked up, startled. Apologetically, he added, “Bad choice of words.”

“Yeah, you _bet_ it is,” Jenny replied somewhat testily. “What’s going on?”

Before Rupert could answer, an elderly man wearing a tweed suit that rivaled Rupert’s entered the room, surveying it with a calculated expression that seemed somehow familiar to Jenny. It took her a moment for her to place where she’d seen that look before, and then it clicked; the first time she’d met Rupert, he’d had a similar look on his face.

“You’re a Watcher,” she said without thinking.

Rupert gave her a panicked look.

“Oh, so she knows about Watchers?” said the man to Rupert. “Small wonder that she’s in hospital, then.”

“It’s not—” Rupert began.

“Ms. Calendar,” said the man, “I am Quentin Travers, head of the Watchers’ Council. I had come to speak with your—ah—friend?”

“Lover,” said Jenny coolly, “and is now really the time to talk Watcher politics with me? I’ve already been tortured this week.”

“ _Lover,_ ” Quentin Travers repeated. “Well. That definitely sheds some light onto the situation we seem to be in.” He clasped his hands in front of him, looking at her critically. “I expect you’ve known each other for a while,” he said, as conversationally as if they were discussing the weather.

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Jenny replied archly, and would have crossed her arms if not for the damn splints on her fingers. She did manage a determined stare, and felt some semblance of pride regarding that.

“As it happens,” Quentin Travers said dryly, “all reasons for Mr. Giles’s current state of distraction have immediately become my business. Now, Ms. Calendar, kindly elaborate on how serious your feelings are for your—” he winced slightly, “—lover.”

Jenny was completely ready to come up with a few beautifully sarcastic answers, and she was halfway to saying one of them when she caught sight of the worried look on Rupert’s face. As little as she wanted to be interrogated about the guy she was in love with by some strange tweedy Watcher she’d met all of thirty seconds ago, she wanted to worry Rupert even less. He had so much on his plate already. Keeping her eyes on him, and managing a weak smile, she said, “Very serious.”

Strangely, this didn’t seem to be the right answer. Rupert’s face shut down and he looked fixedly at his shoes, and Quentin Travers said pointedly, “Mr. Giles, I believe we need to talk. Outside, if you will.”

“What—” Jenny began.

Rupert gave her a quick, clearly forced smile as he followed Quentin Travers out of her hospital room. Nonplussed, and more than a little worried, Jenny lay back against the pillows, turning on the television in an effort to drown out the conversation outside.

* * *

“You’re killing her,” said Travers immediately after the door swung shut behind them.

This wasn’t exactly the sort of lecture Giles had been expecting. “I’m sorry?” he said, too startled to remember how to feel guilty or upset.

“Mr. Giles, I have seen many Watchers fall in love in my time,” Travers informed him. “Nearly all of those stories have ended in death, either of the Watcher or of their paramour. Normally, I would allow this disaster to play out as it will, but as it happens, you are Watcher to the Slayer, and she happens to be of a particularly rebellious sort. Your death could likely cause her to go rogue—”

“If she hasn’t already,” Giles said quietly.

“—and as such, you are too valuable an asset to lose.” Travers fixed Giles with an almost patronizing stare. “Ms. Calendar mentioned torture—by any chance did that torture have to do with her connection to you?”

It was then that it fully sunk in to Giles. He had known the information. Jenny wouldn’t have known it if he hadn’t told her, and Angelus wouldn’t have taken her if he hadn’t loved her. Not only was it his fault, it was his worst fear, and it was the exact reason why the Council strongly disapproved of personal relationships. He wasn’t supposed to love. He’d been so _selfish._

“Yes,” he said finally. It felt like giving up.

Travers nodded in a self-satisfied way and said, “I suspected as much.” Then, “If that woman still calls herself your lover after you put her through trauma like that, she won’t leave you until she dies. And given the sort of track record you and your Slayer have, I’d say that if you let her stay by your side, that day will be sooner rather than later.” He nodded to Giles. “I believe you’ll make the right choice, for her sake if not your own,” he said. “I hope to hear from you when you’ve begun searching for your Slayer.” With that, he turned and strode away, leaving Giles feeling vaguely nauseous.

He tried to imagine some kind of scenario where Jenny would leave him to protect herself, but all he could think of was the way she seemed determined to get _him_ to take care of himself. He couldn’t make Jenny happy by taking care of himself (there wasn’t time for that) and he wasn’t making Travers happy by loving Jenny (which he couldn’t stop doing even if he tried).

Giles didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but he was beginning to think that he wasn’t going to be able to find it out in Sunnydale. Staying here would let him believe that Jenny was safe, that they could be happy, that he could have this strange little found family and Buffy would come home and they’d all survive the coming disasters with no less than a few scrapes. He couldn’t afford to trust his desires anymore when all they seemed to do was hurt Jenny. Eyghon, Angelus, all because he’d loved her too much.

He swallowed hard, and then he walked back into the hospital room.

“Ooh, hey!” Willow looked up from where she was opening a small container of yogurt, flashing Giles a sweet, bright smile. It felt painful to realize that he didn’t deserve it. “Should I clear out?”

Jenny had a worried expression on her face. Giles wanted to tell her to stop caring about him. He wanted to kiss her and let her tell him they’d be all right. He didn’t know what he wanted. “I think you might need to,” she said. “Rain check on the yogurt?”

“I’ll just give it to Xander,” Willow replied, smile faltering but not fading. She glanced over her shoulder once before leaving the room.

“Rupert—” Jenny began.

“I’m to begin my search for Buffy today,” Giles said, trying his best not to look at her. She was in a hospital bed, and he was leaving her in the care of teenagers without any supernatural powers, because he knew if he stayed a minute longer he wouldn’t be able to leave. “Travers has made his instructions very clear.”

The worst part, the part he was counting on, was that he knew Jenny wouldn’t argue, or make any pleas with him to stay for her sake. Maybe his leaving would fix that somehow. If she asked him to stay, though, here and now, he thought he might. Unwise, really, but if she needed him, if he could protect her, because as much as he did care about these children he wasn’t sure if he would trust them to take care of Jenny, now that he was thinking about it, and perhaps it wouldn’t actually be for the best if—

“Okay.”

Giles looked up. Jenny’s lips were pressed firmly together, and she seemed just as small as she had that night when she was unconscious in a vampire’s arms. There wasn’t a single spark of the courageous fire in her eyes that usually made him sure he was making the right decision, and that was somehow worse than his leaving her indefinitely when she was in this condition. “I’m sorry?” he said, almost hoping that she’d take her words back.

“I know how important Buffy is to you,” Jenny said. Her voice was just as level as it always was, but something still didn’t seem right. Perhaps Giles was imagining it in his determination to come up with reasons to stay. “I know how worried you are. And honestly, I think this could be good for both of us.”

“Both of us?” Giles repeated.

Jenny looked down at the bedspread, and Giles noticed a small rip that hadn’t been there before. All she said was, “I could always use some time alone.”

Giles swallowed hard and nodded. “Right,” he said. His voice broke. “I—should get home to pack, and—”

“Kiss me goodbye?”

Jenny sounded _very_ much like she was trying to be brave for his sake, and Giles thought some part of him shattered at that. “Of course,” he said without hesitation.

She nodded, and gave him a flicker of a smile as he walked over to her bedside. This felt like an ending, almost. The way she was looking at him with those understanding eyes—that had been his downfall, really. He’d always been so sure that she’d understood him more than most.

He tucked her hair behind her ear—she wasn’t able to do that with her broken fingers—and pressed his mouth lightly to hers, trying to drink in every aspect of the moment. Some part of him was afraid he might never see her again, if the decision he came to was one that involved leaving her for good.

The kiss ended too soon. He rested his forehead against hers and pretended he knew he would come back to her. It didn’t really fix anything.


	12. logically sound

As it turned out, Xander had headed home, leaving Willow with a half-open container of yogurt that she wasn’t really hungry enough to start on herself. It wouldn’t hurt to give it to Giles, she realized, and she didn’t exactly want to just hang out in her hospital room and watch TV, so she decided to poke her head in and check on Giles and Ms. Calendar again. Whatever it was, they usually wrapped it up within five minutes, and if they were making out they wouldn’t notice her anyway.

Willow was halfway down the hall to Ms. Calendar’s room when she saw Giles leaning against the wall outside, his head in his hands. His shoulders were shaking.

“Giles—” She ran up to him, placing a hand on his arm. He flinched away. “Giles, what’s wrong? Is everyone okay?”

Giles took a shuddering breath, as if trying to collect himself, and managed a nod before looking up. “I have to leave,” he said. His voice was strange and near-unrecognizable, and it took Willow a moment to realize that he was suppressing tears. “I have to look for Buffy.”

It took a moment for things to click with Willow. “But—what about Ms. Calendar?” she asked, attempting to keep her voice level and not panicky. She wasn’t sure if she pulled it off entirely. “Giles, I don’t know if this is the best time to leave.”

Giles pressed his lips together. “It isn’t what I want to do,” he said, “but it’s what needs to be done. Buffy is needed here.”

There was a strange cadence to the way he told her this. Willow would have pressed this, if not for the fact that she’d never seen Giles cry before and he was looking unnervingly close to it now. “Then—we’ll take care of Ms. Calendar while you’re gone,” she told him, trying her best to be reassuring and calm like Ms. Calendar always seemed to be. “She’s in good hands with us.” This was sort of a lie, given that none of them had any kind of training the way Buffy did, or even brute strength like Angel, but Willow got the sense that Giles needed to hear something like that from someone.

Giles didn’t seem to hear her. “I need to leave,” he mumbled, and hurried past her, away from the door.

Willow watched him go, a sinking feeling in her chest. Buffy was gone, and Giles was looking for her when he definitely didn’t want to leave Ms. Calendar, and Ms. Calendar was injured, and suddenly it was up to the rest of the Scoobies to pick up the pieces. She steeled herself before walking into Ms. Calendar’s room.

Ms. Calendar was crying. Very, very quietly, but it was still clear that she was crying. In front of her, the blankets were torn, and she was holding her arms close to her chest as if trying to hold herself together.

“ _Oh—_ ” Willow all but ran over to the bed, climbing onto it to take Ms. Calendar’s hands in hers.

Ms. Calendar looked up and immediately tugged her hands out of Willow’s, scrubbing roughly at her face. “I’m fine,” she said, voice surprisingly calm for someone who had just been crying. “It’s fine, Willow, just—I need a minute.”

“Is there anything I can do?” Willow inquired.

Ms. Calendar bit her lip, and then she said, “Can I have that yogurt?”

“What?” Willow looked down and remembered that she was still holding the yogurt from earlier. “Oh! Yes! Definitely.” She finished opening the yogurt and handed it to Ms. Calendar, who gave her a grateful smile. “Do you need a spoon?”

“I’ll just drink it,” Ms. Calendar replied.

“Can I stay in here?” Willow asked tentatively. “Or do you want to be alone?”

“I—” Ms. Calendar hesitated, as though thinking something over. Then, “Please stay.”

Willow nodded, and settled into the bed. “Do you want to watch TV?”

“Sure,” said Ms. Calendar distantly. “You pick something.”

Willow wasn’t sure what Ms. Calendar liked watching, and she wanted to look mature, so she found some daytime soap opera where everyone was very well-dressed and dramatic and settled into the pillows. Ms. Calendar started in on the yogurt.

It was very still and quiet in the room, and not in the nice way where Ms. Calendar and Giles were settled on the bed together and Willow was in a chair working on the geometry homework Xander had brought her. When Willow looked over at Ms. Calendar, her face looked the way it had those awful few weeks when none of the Scoobies would talk to her, which made Willow think that maybe Ms. Calendar was afraid of being lonely again. Which—if Giles had known that, Willow was sure he’d have stayed.

Or maybe he wouldn’t. Giles seemed in a really weird emotional place too, ever since Buffy had been missing, and maybe he needed to know Buffy was okay before he could focus on Ms. Calendar. Willow tried to imagine how Ms. Calendar felt about that, but all she could come up with was a solid “not good” and the beginnings of a headache.

“I like her dress,” said Ms. Calendar vaguely, gesturing to one of the women on the screen. “A little glittery, but the cut’s nice.”

Willow scooted closer to Ms. Calendar and carefully took the empty yogurt container from her hand. Ms. Calendar didn’t seem to notice. “I think she’s really nice as a person, compared to the rest of them,” she said conversationally. “I don’t get why the guy doesn’t just marry her instead of chasing those two other girls.”

“Dramatic effect,” Ms. Calendar said knowledgeably, and smiled a little.

Willow smiled too. Then, deciding to take this opportunity, “I’ll be here if you need me. You know that, right?”

Ms. Calendar looked over at her, smile now trembling slightly. “Yeah,” she said simply. “Thank you, Willow.”

* * *

Giles headed back to Jenny’s house (as he’d semi-officially moved in with her over the last few weeks, most of his belongings were there) and packed his things fairly quickly. A few changes of clothes, a toothbrush, a set of pajamas, and a photograph of Buffy to use when asking strangers if they’d seen her. It was one of her and Willow a few days before her birthday, both of them beaming cheerfully at the camera. Xander was visible in the background getting pizza grease all over one of Giles’s books. He smiled slightly at the memory of that day, before remembering that he did happen to be on a tight schedule and tucking the photo into his jacket pocket.

He hesitated at the door, and then made a decision, going back into Jenny’s bedroom and over to the bureau. Quietly, he opened the top drawer, taking out Jenny’s rose quartz necklace, and scrawled a quick note with a notepad and pen lying on the top of the dresser.

_Sorry to borrow your necklace. Wanted something to remember you by while I was on the road._

_I love you—_

_Rupert_

Looking at the note, Giles wasn’t sure if he wanted Jenny to see it. He didn’t want her to spend the whole summer waiting for him to come back, and he didn’t know how long it would take him to find Buffy. Best case scenario, he found her in a few days, but Buffy was a lot smarter than the Council gave her credit for, and he didn’t doubt her ability to hide from anyone she didn’t want to be found by. He decided that Jenny wouldn’t miss the necklace and crumpled up the note, shoving it into his pocket.

Giles put on the necklace, tucking it under his shirt where it wouldn’t be seen. If he wasn’t coming back, he wanted to at least be able to admit to himself that he _wanted_ to. It was for the safety of those around him that he wasn’t a part of their lives, of course, and this year had proven that more than anything else had, but he could no longer pretend that he was ruled completely by logic. If anything, that was why he’d stayed with Jenny so long; he’d been able to convince himself that, were there any logical reasons for him to leave, he would immediately comply to Council rules and end his relationship with her. And even now, he wasn’t exactly doing that.

He would figure things out better away from her, because being with her meant having to distinguish reason from emotion. He would understand what needed to be done, and then he would either come back, or he would continue to look for Buffy. It was as simple as that. His love for Jenny and his worry about her would always have to come second to his calling, and—

—and she knew that. She respected that. God help him, she loved him all the more for it. Jenny, as much as she liked to pretend otherwise, was guided wholeheartedly by love, and Giles wished he could give her that same complete loyalty.

He reached up and took the necklace from under his shirt, briefly closing his fingers around it. She always forgave him, even when he didn’t deserve it. She would always be there for him, even when it was the worst decision for her. He wanted to believe that he would come back to her, but everything about their relationship had been thrown up in the air yet again, and some time away from Sunnydale was really the only choice he felt certain was logically sound (never mind his emotions; they’d never served him well).

Tucking the necklace back under his shirt, he picked his bags up from the bed and finally managed to leave the house.


	13. empty places

Jenny was thoroughly worried about the prospect of leaving the hospital without anyone to help her (thanks to broken fingers, it was kind of difficult to manage even picking up small things). Not that she’d mention it to the kids, of course; she’d sooner call Rupert and tell him about her nightmares than make the children into her personal caretakers. They were too young to be dealing with that kind of responsibility.

She’d manage, though. She always did. Never mind that the nightmares had gotten worse now that she was waking up alone in a public place. Never mind that no one seemed to know what had happened to Angelus, and no one seemed to think that it might be affecting her a lot more than she let on. Jenny was caught in a trap of her own making; she’d pushed everyone away and told them she was fine so many times, and now that she really needed help, no one thought to give it to her. It wasn’t like she could ask for it, either, because she was full of pride and she couldn’t watch people look at her with that compassion and sympathy that she’d _never deserved—_

Jenny took a slow breath, focusing on the quiet steadiness of it. It was strange, to be falling apart inside but completely outwardly composed when Willow and Xander were with her. Cordelia had left for the summer, and Oz was busy with his band and his family, leaving Willow and Xander as Jenny’s only consistent visitors.

“Okay?” Willow asked nervously.

_No._

“Yes.”

Willow didn’t look convinced, but didn’t press it. Jenny was glad. It would be one thing to break down in front of Rupert, but another entirely to let Willow see her anything but calm. More than she had, anyway. That first time was an accident.

“The nurse lady says they’ll let you go tomorrow,” Willow said. “There’s no risk of internal bleeding or anything. I’m thinking maybe we ask Oz if he can drive you home?”

“Thank you,” said Jenny, and it was almost too easy to smile at Willow.

“Okay, but if you need anything—” Xander began, a small frown on his face.

“She can call,” Willow finished firmly, and gave Jenny a reassuring little smile, almost as if she knew that Jenny would want them to leave her alone. Or—that was what the Jenny who hadn’t been put through hell would want. This Jenny felt somewhat unmoored, and a little bit surprised at how perceptive Willow was.

“Yeah, but she’s got broken fingers,” Xander pointed out. “How’s she gonna call for help?”

Willow frowned, then, “I’ll rig up some kind of a device with the phone!” She smiled at Jenny. “You remember my science project freshman year, right? All physics. And Xander can help, too, he’s good at tinkering with things. We’ll whip you up a high-tech low-price lever system that pushes the buttons for you. Ooh, I can use my typewriter—” She jumped up off the bed, flashing Jenny and Xander a smile over her shoulder as she dashed out of the room.

Jenny looked over at Xander, who was studying her with an unreadable expression. Finally, he said, “Have you heard from Giles?”

“Oh, uh,” Jenny pressed her lips together, “not yet. But I’m sure he’ll—”

“Yeah,” said Xander. He looked somewhat like he regretted asking. “Listen, I—I’m sorry. About everything. You’re way more badass than I ever figured you’d be, you know that?”

“Should I take that as a compliment?” Jenny asked, amused.

Xander flushed. “No, what I mean is—” He looked up at her. “I always sort of pegged you as a cool teacher, you know? But that was as far as it went. I didn’t think you’d be a cool teacher _and_ able to hold your own against Angelus.”

Jenny looked down at her broken fingers. “Hardly.”

“Giles said you told Angelus to fuck off,” Xander said carefully, as if he wasn’t quite sure whether or not the subject was open for discussion.

“Did he say that?” Jenny asked, honestly surprised. She only vaguely remembered the night, and she hadn’t realized she’d done anything like that.

“Not to me, but—” Xander suddenly looked somewhat uncomfortable. “He was really out of it when we were driving. He kept on telling you how brave you were.”

Jenny thought she remembered that car ride. Rupert had been holding her less injured hand to his heart, and she’d felt it pounding as the car raced along at record speed. He’d been talking to her in a shaking voice, but she couldn’t remember what he’d said. “Brave,” she said quietly. “That’s a big thing to be, isn’t it? Bravery.”

“We all have to be brave,” Xander said thoughtfully. “I don’t think your reasons are the same as mine, though.”

“You’re a smart kid,” Jenny told him. “You should have done better in my class.”

Xander grinned a little, and was opening his mouth to say something when Willow raced back in. She was holding a jumble of materials and talking too fast for Jenny to really make any sense of it, but Xander seemed to understand well enough. They were both chattering excitedly about the phone system they’d have to set up, making the room feel crowded and small, and Jenny loved it. Quiet, empty places weren’t really her thing lately; the mansion had been quiet and empty, Angelus making sure that every noise of breaking bone was completely audible.

She wished she could stop thinking about the damn torture and get over herself, and she missed Rupert’s arms around her. For some reason, though, the kids thought she had some kind of bravery in her, and that needed to be enough for her to carry on.

The _kids._ Jenny’s breath caught painfully, and she wasn’t sure whether it was from the cracked ribs or the sudden horror she was feeling. She was in no position to protect any of them. If anything, they’d be the ones protecting her in the event of a crisis. And if Angelus somehow came back, and Rupert wasn’t here to help fight him off—how was she supposed to save any of the kids?

“You all right?” Willow asked gently, somewhat distracting Jenny from her worries.

“Yeah,” Jenny lied easily. “Just can’t wait to get out of here. Look—” she hesitated, then decided that keeping the kids aware was definitely more important than making sure they felt secure, “—do either of you know what happened to Angelus?”

Willow’s reassuring smile seemed to slip a little. Xander pressed his lips together, hands curling into fists, and said, “No one’s seen him since—that night.”

“But he would have done something by now,” Willow persisted. “If he was still out there, I mean. We would have figured him out. But we can always check out some of his hideouts if you’re really worried. The factory, the mansion, even a few mausoleums—”

Jenny felt a pain in her chest that was definitely stress-induced. “Don’t go looking for him,” she said sharply. “You’ll end up playing right into his hands if you think like that.”

“We can take care of ourselves!” Willow responded with a sort of hurt indignance.

“I know,” said Jenny, even though she didn’t feel all that confident in anything, lately. “I just worry about you two.” She looked up. “I don’t know when Rupert’s going to come back,” she said finally. “I don’t want his next flight to Sunnydale to be for one of your funerals.”

“Okay,” said Xander gamely. “We’ll be careful.”

“Pinky swear,” Willow agreed seriously. “And don’t worry about us, Ms. Calendar.” She leaned down, giving a surprised Jenny a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll stay safe for you and Giles.”

Jenny thought her smile faltered at the mention of Rupert. If he’d _really_ wanted Willow and Xander to stay safe, he wouldn’t have left them in her care. She was starting to wonder if his leaving had actually been planned at all. “Good,” she said. “I’m a little tired. You guys mind giving me some time alone?”

Willow and Xander gracefully obliged. Jenny waited for them to go before she turned on the television, making sure the volume was up high. The sounds didn’t exactly fill the room the same way actual people did, but it was definitely better than maudlin silence.

Willow was right. If Angelus was still out there, it was more than likely that he would have made some kind of gesture. But then he wasn’t exactly the type to comply to Scooby expectations; he’d always seemed to be two steps ahead of all of them.

And then it occurred to Jenny that the one way she could tell if Angelus was alive would be investigating Acathla. If the statue was still there, it would be a bit of a murky area with no real way of proving whether or not Angelus was alive. However, if Angelus had been killed after the ritual had been started, Acathla would have been sucked into the hell dimension it had come from. No Acathla, no Angelus. All Jenny had to do was go to the mansion after she was discharged from the hospital and find out whether Acathla was there.

But maybe that was what Angelus wanted her to do.

The thought of walking straight into a trap that Angelus had laid for her, with no Slayer backup and no Watcher guidance, was possibly the most frightening concept Jenny had ever faced in Sunnydale. But there was no way she’d call Rupert and drag him into this, nor did she have any intention of putting the kids in danger. Jenny was the only person who knew enough about the ritual to know that investigating Acathla was incredibly important, and the only adult available for demon-fighting.

 _Bravery,_ she thought, and smiled ruefully. She’d never thought of herself as brave until she’d met these kids, but then maybe she’d never really had anyone she’d wanted to be brave for.

* * *

 

It was a little challenging to carry a crossbow with ten broken fingers and one arm in a cast, but Jenny had managed to angle it so that the cast sort of propped up the crossbow. Her aim wouldn’t be exactly stellar, but she _was_ wearing a cross this time around, so she did at least have that.

The sight of the mansion didn’t make her feel as immediately afraid as she’d expected. Maybe it was because she’d been half-conscious both entering and leaving the place, so the outside of it didn’t really hold any emotional value to her. Still, it was weird to look at the place and think _I got tortured here._ The outside of the building looked impersonal and unthreatening. A little gaudy, perhaps, but definitely not a location you’d expect Acathla to be awakened in.

Jenny decided to try not to think about torture and strode into the mansion, looking around. There was no sign of Acathla, as far as she could see, but maybe Angelus had just moved the statue in an effort to lure her somewhere in the mansion. Except if he was here, with Acathla, wouldn’t he have already ended the world? Or no, no, maybe he wanted to make sure he killed her before destroying the rest of the world, maybe he’d killed Buffy and he was just waiting for her to come to him, one last act of revenge—

Her fingers tightened involuntarily around the trigger of the crossbow and it shot a bolt into the wall. The loud noise in the midst of the stillness made Jenny stumble, not to mention the fact that in her hurry to sneak out of the house before the kids thought to call and check in or something, she’d forgotten to get more than one crossbow bolt. There was no way she could pull that bolt out of the wall, unless she wanted to dislocate her fingers, but she knew that if she didn’t have any weapons Angelus would probably kill her on the spot.

Screw it. If Angelus found her, she was pretty much toast with or without a crossbow. Broken fingers did not a warrior make. Jenny dropped the crossbow and continued to walk, trying to keep herself calm as she got closer to the spot where Acathla had been.

Should have been.

Jenny stopped, staring at the empty space. There wasn’t even a sign of a scratch where Acathla might have been dragged across the floor to be hidden away, nor was there any leftover debris from the fight. The room she was standing in was clear and barren. If she hadn’t known that a battle had taken place here, she never would have guessed anyone had even set _foot_ in here before her.

The likelihood of Angelus being here was seeming less and less possible, and Jenny was surprised at how she felt about that. Not joy that the monster who had almost killed her was gone, but…sadness? Regret? That didn’t seem right. She turned, looking around at the empty space surrounding her. Maybe she just needed to search a little more. Maybe he was still here. Maybe—

It finally hit her, then. She’d wanted Angel back.

Angelus was a monster who deserved to suffer, but Angel had never deserved anything of that. Buffy had loved him, and it was likely that he had never had the chance to know love as a human. Jenny had hated the way her uncle had blindly condemned Angelus, and she’d wanted to believe that she could save Angel, but now it was beginning to look like Angelus had died and taken Angel with him. No wonder Buffy had run away after faced something like that.

Oh, god, Buffy had had to _kill Angel—_

Jenny sat down on the floor, almost involuntarily. A part of her almost wanted Angelus to come out of the shadows, even though it would mean the end of her. If she died, someone else could resoul him, and Angel could do so much _good_ for the world. She was…what? A deluded technopagan who thought she could harness powers she didn’t have. She’d failed. She’d destroyed the lives of Buffy and Angel and even Rupert because she hadn’t been able to work the ritual in time. Because she always thought that they’d have enough time to begin with.

She almost wished she had it in her to cry, but she just felt empty and tired. Left behind, almost. Buffy was gone, and Rupert had followed her, and Jenny was left to pick up the pieces.


	14. too quiet, too much

Two days later, Jenny threw out the ritual. She didn’t delete the disk; she couldn’t bring herself to truly destroy all that work. But she found the printouts and ripped them up (as clumsy as the splints on her fingers were, they seemed damn good at destroying things) and yeah, she was pretty sure she was crying a little. Everything she’d done had been rendered useless.

_We control nothing. We are not wizards, Janna. We merely play our part._

Her uncle had expected this. Her uncle had wanted to avoid this, apparently, but he hadn’t told her enough to save his life. Or Angel’s. Or maybe Jenny should have actually _asked_ instead of following blindly and doing what was expected of her. When had she lost the ability to think for herself?

Rupert would still be here if she’d had courage enough to set aside her pride and tell him how scared she was. It had been so much easier to admit vulnerability before she’d had a network of people to support her. Somehow, that kind of support scared her even more, because what happened if— _when—_ they decided she wasn’t worth that? Those few weeks after Angelus had been lonely, but they would have been even worse if she’d known that Rupert had loved her. Love was a risky game.

Bravery. Maybe Xander was wrong. Maybe she was a coward when it really came down to it.

Jenny stared at the scraps of paper in front of her, a lump in her throat, and remembered the shining moment of hope and joy when the ritual had been finished. _You’ve done the impossible,_ she remembered Rupert saying, but what good was the impossible if it couldn’t help the people she loved? Or save the people who deserved it? She wanted Rupert here, suddenly, because he’d be holding her and somehow managing to say the exact right thing and she wouldn’t have ripped up the papers in front of him, if he were here—

Her hands were shaking, and the room was too quiet. She got up and turned on the TV, making sure the volume was loud enough to blare through the house, and sat down on the sofa. She’d clean up the paper later, maybe.

The most surreal part of all of this was the strange emptiness this left her with. So much of her life over the last two years had been devoted to Angelus, to her uncle, to her duty, and then (inevitably) to Rupert. Now all of those things were gone, leaving her with nothing but broken fingers and a lingering sense of purposelessness. She didn’t know what to do, or how to do it. She’d always had some sort of clear path when there were people she valued who wanted her loyalty or her love, but now all she had was herself and the children that she seemed to be the only one able to protect.

And, god, it was so selfish to think of this as such a huge, looming problem for her when her inactivity had essentially killed Angel? Her uncle had dehumanized him, called him a monster worthy of eternal torment, but Jenny had seen the way Angel looked at Buffy and it didn’t seem all that monstrous to her.

Angel’s blood was on her hands, but Angelus had wanted to watch her die. The whole thing was so convoluted and strange that it made Jenny’s head hurt to think about it, and she hated to be that clingy girlfriend but she _missed_ Rupert.

She considered her options, then headed over to the phone. There were still a few people who did deserve to know about Angel’s now-permanent death.

* * *

“Good.”

“Xander—” said Jenny somewhat reprovingly, but she was too tired to make it sound authoritative.

“He deserved it,” Xander replied, meeting Jenny’s eyes unabashedly.

“I don’t think he did,” Willow said, but there was a strange cadence to her tone. Almost doubtful.

“You saw what he did to Ms. Calendar, right?” persisted Xander. “I say he deserved what he got. More than what he got, if you ask me, because being sent to a hell dimension is basically a picnic in the meadow for a guy like that.”

“I’m not talking about Angelus,” said Willow, her voice suddenly sharp and angry. “You know I’m not. Angel didn’t deserve to die.”

Jenny focused on her hands, looking down at the cast on her wrist, and wished she could break another finger just to distract herself from the conversation at hand.

“Angel wasn’t exactly a sparkling beacon of goodness even _with_ a soul,” Xander shot back. “You think it’s a good idea for a two-hundred-year-old vampire to be knocking boots with a seventeen-year-old girl? I don’t think he did, but he did it anyway.”

“He made Buffy happy!”

“Yeah, and apparently she made him happy too, and look where that got us!”

“You think I don’t know that?”

Jenny had sort of imagined a more serene setting, where everyone very calmly and rationally came to a consensus regarding Angel’s death and didn’t start yelling about whether or not it was a good thing. The room seemed too small, and too angry, and it was almost too much for her.

“Maybe you should consider the fact that it’s for the best Angel died,” Xander was saying now. “Maybe it’s better that we didn’t give him his soul again, because where would we be if he decided he needed a little happy time on his lonesome? Sure, he’s not gonna go have sex with Buffy again, but—”

“You’re saying it’s for the _best_ Angel died because he’s not going to be careful enough to not lose his soul next time?” Willow burst out. “Xander, you _know_ he didn’t know the curse could break! None of us did!”

“Not _none_ of us,” said Xander significantly.

Jenny felt as though the wind had been knocked out of her. There was a sudden silence as Xander and Willow turned to look at her, eyes wide, simultaneously realizing the implications of the statement. “I—” she began, heart tight, and then (not exactly her proudest moment) she turned and all but ran out of the living room, slamming the front door behind her.

It was nearly sunset, which didn’t help with her nerves, and she hated the idea of Xander and Willow seeing her cry, so she sat down on her porch, buried her face in her hands, and tried to regulate her breathing. She’d thought she’d been alone before, but this was somehow so much worse. Rupert was god knows where, Angel was dead because of her, Buffy had run away because she had to kill Angel because Jenny hadn’t done _anything_ in time, Willow and Xander blamed her and she was going to lose everyone all over again.

She heard the door open slowly, and was too tired to lift her head up and put on her usual composed face. She wasn’t going to need it, anyway.

“I didn’t mean you,” Xander said nervously. “I—I meant Angel. I didn’t—you know no one blames you, Ms. Calendar. You know that.” He seemed to be saying it more to himself than to her, as though he wanted to affirm that she was okay.

Jenny lifted up her head, turning slightly to face him. It felt like one of the hardest things she’d ever done. “Yeah,” she said softly. “I know.” She didn’t.

“I was just mad, and I was saying stupid things, lots of stupid, crazy things, and I’m sorry. I told Willow I was sorry.” Xander looked more anxious than Jenny had ever seen him. Vaguely, she wondered what her face looked like, if it was making him look like that. “Can you come back in? It might get dark.”

“You should be getting home, then,” Jenny replied, finally getting up.

“We can stay,” Xander suggested awkwardly. “You—shouldn’t have to be alone.”

Jenny was too exhausted to argue. “I’m going to sleep,” she said. “It’s been a bit of a taxing day.”

“I’m sorry,” said Xander again, almost desperately.

Jenny tried to smile. “It’s okay,” she said. Her voice broke a little. For the first time, it occurred to her that maybe her calmness was just as comforting to the kids as Rupert’s reason, and that made her want to cry too.


	15. chamomile tea

She woke up with a choked gasp. She’d dreamed about Drusilla, this time around, and those dreams were somehow the worse ones. Rupert’s arms around her, holding her back, his voice becoming fiercer and angrier and higher until it was all just wordless shrieking and pain. Jenny pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to calm herself down, and got up out of bed, turning on the light to fill the room with a soft glow. It helped, but only marginally.

She went to the kitchen and poured herself a cup of water, and that’s when she heard the clatter from the living room. Jenny shrieked, dropping the glass and fumbling for the handle of the silverware drawer in an effort to find a kitchen knife or a sharp fork or _something—_

“Sorry!” Willow held her hands up, entering the kitchen with wide eyes. “Sorry, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You’re still here,” Jenny said weakly, remembering then what Xander had said about them staying. She’d gone straight to bed without really thinking about whether or not he and Willow would make good on their word; she guessed she wasn’t used to people sticking around. “It’s fine. I just—forgot.”

“You broke the glass,” said Willow somewhat awkwardly, looking down at the floor. Jenny followed her gaze to the shattered fragments and spilled water. “I can clean it up, if you want.”

“Oh, no, I can—” Jenny began, looked down at her broken fingers, and laughed somewhat tiredly. “Yeah. That might be for the best.” 

“If you go back to bed, I could bring you some tea or something!” Willow offered. There was a strange note to her voice.

“Willow—” Jenny began.

Willow burst into tears.

It took Jenny a moment to register what was happening, and another moment to cross the kitchen and pull Willow into her arms. “Willow,” she said, trying to sound comforting and maternal, but her voice came out shaky and halfway to crying herself as Willow buried her face in her shoulder. Jenny stroked Willow’s hair, trying her best to make sure that the splints didn’t catch.

“I hate this!” Willow sobbed into Jenny’s shoulder. “I hate it! I can’t do it! I don’t know what I’m doing, and I just want everyone to be happy and okay, and _you’re not okay_ I saw your face when I came in you looked so _scared—”_

“It’s okay,” Jenny said softly.

“It’s _not!_ ” Willow half-shouted. “It’s not, it’s not, it—” She dissolved into wordless tears, clinging to Jenny.

Jenny stayed still. Willow’s words had resonated with her a lot more than she’d liked. Not because she couldn’t handle the way she was feeling—she just didn’t want to think about someone like Willow having to go through the exact same thing. At the same time, she thought guiltily, it was strangely comforting to know that there was something she _could_ solve, someone who _did_ need her. Mostly, though, she just wanted Willow to feel better, so she stayed still for about ten minutes until she thought Willow seemed to be winding down.

“Can I make you some tea?” she asked quietly.

Willow, whose sobs had dissolved into sniffles, nodded, pulling away and stepping back to look up at her. “You can’t make tea with broken fingers,” she said in a small voice.

“All right.” Jenny smiled gently at Willow. “Can _you_ make _me_ some tea? That’d make me pretty happy, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I _am._ ” Willow scrubbed at her eyes.

“Cool.” Jenny stepped forward and pulled Willow into another hug, this one of the less clingy variety. It was strange how natural it felt, especially considering Jenny wasn’t much of a hugger. “I think there are some tea bags in the cupboard.”

Willow smiled at her, small and wobbly. “I’m tired,” she said finally.

Jenny knew Willow wasn’t talking about how early in the morning it was. “Me too,” she replied ruefully, and sat down at the kitchen table. “Is Xander still here? I’d hate to think we woke him.”

Willow shook her head. “He had to leave,” she said as she poured out some water. “He wanted to stay, but there was only one couch, and he knew I’d sleep on the floor if he stayed, so—”

“Next time, remind me to set up the fold-out bed,” Jenny commented lightly.

“You seemed a little out of it,” said Willow, and then her face crumbled again.

“Oh, Willow,” said Jenny, her voice breaking a little as she got up again and hurried to Willow’s side. Willow wasn’t crying as hard or as loudly this time. “You know what, maybe I might be best suited to make the tea. You seem like you could use a good cry.”

“You have broken fingers!” Willow said tearfully. “And you can’t make tea, or—or open a fold-out bed with broken fingers! I shouldn’t just let you—”

“Who’s the adult here?” Jenny reminded Willow firmly. “I can make as much tea as I’d like.”

“I can put the bags in, at least,” Willow suggested, and sniffled. “I’ll stop crying. I really will.”

“Yeah, but Willow, when’s the last time anyone made you a nice cup of tea at,” Jenny glanced over at the digital clock on the wall, “two in the morning?”

“When’s the last time someone made _you_ tea?” Willow countered a bit childishly, but sat down.

Jenny went into the living room, found a blanket on the couch, and hurried back over to Willow, tucking the blanket around her on the chair. On an impulse, or some kind of weird motherly instinct or whatever, she kissed the top of Willow’s head (because screw it, this was a sweet, smart, capable girl who didn’t deserve any of the stuff she was having to deal with) before heading over to start on the tea. She very nearly missed the overwhelmed and happy look on Willow’s face as she snuggled into the blankets.

“What kind of tea are you gonna make?” Willow asked. She sounded a little exhausted from the crying session.

“I’m thinking chamomile,” Jenny replied. “It’s good bedtime tea. Rupert made me some when—” She hesitated, drew in a breath, felt the soft, strange tranquility of the kitchen. She was fine. She would be, for Willow’s sake. “One night, we got home late, and I was pretty wired from all the dancing we’d been doing.”

“You and Giles went _dancing?_ ” Willow sounded delighted.

“Don’t tell anyone I told you,” Jenny quipped. “Especially not him.” She opened the cabinet for the teabags, and found that her hands were steadier than she’d expected.

“Is he a good dancer?”

Jenny smiled slightly. “He’s great at waltzing,” she said, turning on the stove. “Nothing else, really. He sort of flaps his hands for five seconds and then he pretends he needs to get a drink so he can stop dancing. It’s sort of endearing.” The kettle set up and heating up, she headed back over to the kitchen table, sitting down in the chair next to Willow’s. “Is Oz a good dancer?” she asked playfully.

Willow smiled faintly. “He’s okay,” she said. “We haven’t had much time to dance.”

“I’d imagine.” Jenny reached out, tucking the blanket more firmly around Willow’s shoulders. “It’s been a pretty busy year.”

Willow nodded, and sniffled a little, before saying, “Is it okay if I start crying again?”

“Are you going to?”

“No, I-I’m just—you know. Asking in advance.”

Jenny couldn’t help but quietly laugh at that. “Yeah, it’s fine,” she said. “But maybe wait until the tea shows up.”

“How come?”

“Crying with tea is always weirdly relaxing, at least in my experience,” Jenny quipped. Willow giggled a little exhaustedly, and Jenny found herself smiling too.

* * *

 

Willow fell asleep halfway through her mug of chamomile tea, so Jenny decided to carry her to the bedroom. She could survive one night on the couch; she’d survived much worse. Carefully taking the mug out of Willow’s hands, Jenny leaned down and awkwardly picked her up, blankets and all.

Willow stirred. “Sea cucumber,” she mumbled, and snuggled into Jenny, who smiled slightly and headed into the bedroom. She didn’t wake up as Jenny put her down, but she did when Jenny was tucking her in.

“Hey,” said Jenny softly, and smoothed down Willow’s hair.

“Hi,” said Willow blearily. “What time is it?”

“Late,” Jenny replied. “Go to sleep, okay?”

“Okay,” Willow agreed, rolling over onto her side and snuggling into the pillows. As Jenny was halfway out the door, she added, “Love you.”

Jenny was startled, for a moment. “I love you too,” she said finally. She paused outside the door and just kind of smiled, leaning against the wall, before finally exiting and heading into the living room.

She felt actually okay—almost content, even—for the first time in a very long while, and she wanted to hold onto that feeling. She was halfway afraid that she’d wake up with it gone. Sort of the inverse of sleeping the pain away. Jenny found another blanket and lay down on the couch.

Maybe Rupert never came back. It was strange to be so certain that she was going to make it beyond that. She had lost herself a little in loving him, and she’d let herself expect that he’d be a constant in her life. Nothing in her life could be constant, though, especially now that she was full-on dedicated to fighting evil. Jenny just had to appreciate the good things while they were there.

It didn’t feel as eerie, falling asleep, not when she knew that there was someone else in the house. She was so used to being afraid and thinking five steps ahead in the event that one of the kids might get hurt, and it was sort of nice to not have that, even if it was something of a false sense of security.

God, Rupert had had to deal with this _alone_ that first year, before they’d really known each other. Jenny still wasn’t sure how he’d managed, and as she drifted off to sleep that was the last question in her head.

* * *

 

She woke up late, and to the smell of pancakes. She could hear Willow humming cheerfully in the kitchen, and she had to smile as she stretched and got up off the couch. It had been a long time since she’d felt this warm and cozy.

“Morning, sunshine,” Jenny called, heading into the kitchen and leaning against the doorframe. “How’d you sleep?”

“Let _me_ take the couch next time,” Willow replied somewhat reprovingly. Then, “I slept nicely. You have a nice bed.”

Jenny smiled. Then it occurred to her how late Willow had stayed over. “Your mom’s not worried about you?” she inquired. “Being gone all night and all morning and all that?”

Willow’s easy smile flickered slightly, but her tone remained casual and light as she replied, “Oh, she usually doesn’t notice that kinda thing.”  

“Okay,” said Jenny, somewhat perturbed by this small admission. She decided to leave it be for now. “Those pancakes smell _really_ good,” she said, sitting down at the kitchen table. “Where’d you learn how to make them?”

“There was a do-it-yourself cookbook at the library—” Willow began cheerfully.

There was a knock at the door.

“Was Xander gonna swing by?” Jenny asked, trying not to sound too nervous. It was light outside, after all, so there was no _reason_ to be nervous.

“Maybe?” Willow frowned, setting down the spatula. “I guess he left something here. You know how he does that.”

“I’ll get it,” said Jenny, and did her best to smile easily and calmly at Willow. She wasn’t sure if it worked, but either way, Willow didn’t stop her from exiting the kitchen. “Xander,” she called in the direction of the door, mostly to calm herself down as she walked, “I’m pretty sure your English textbook is still at Willow’s house, so if you—” She opened the door, and stopped.

“Hello,” said Rupert, in a quiet, uncertain sort of way.


	16. idealization

She looked tired. That was the first thing that struck Giles; the lingering exhaustion in Jenny’s eyes. Her hair was a bit disheveled, and she was still in her pajamas even though it was nearly noon. He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her, but that wasn’t why he’d returned. “May I come in?” he inquired.

Jenny stared at him as though she couldn’t quite believe he was there. Then, finally, she replied a bit awkwardly, “I mean, if you’re not a vampire—”

“Right.” Giles waited until Jenny had stepped aside before stepping over the threshold himself and turning to face her. “You look—have you been sleeping?”

Jenny sniffled, and suddenly she was hugging him quite hard. He stumbled backwards, nearly hitting his head against the doorframe, but couldn’t think to do anything but hug her back, burying his face in her hair. He knew what he had to do, and he knew how he would have to do it, but he wanted one last moment to hold her, at least.

Oh, lord, she was _shaking—_

“I missed you,” said Jenny, in a small, unusually fragile sort of voice, and pressed her lips to his cheek.

“I missed you too,” Giles murmured instinctually, and wanted to hit himself for saying it.

“ _Giles?_ ”

Giles looked up, and saw a beaming Willow standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “Willow,” he began awkwardly. “I—”

“It’s okay, I’ll see myself out the back door!” Willow sounded utterly delighted. “I get that you guys probably want to be alone, and I’m intruding, and this is definitely super awkward, so I’m just gonna grab my things and go! I’ll turn off the stove, though—fire safety—also if Xander shows up looking for me tell him I’m at my house again, okay? Okay!” She beamed at Jenny (who had turned her head slightly to smile at Willow) and dashed back into the kitchen.

“It’s been a pretty eventful night,” said Jenny, and laughed a little shakily. She looked up at Giles, who felt all of his predetermined resolutions crumble to bits yet _again_ at the sight of the love in her eyes. “I—to be honest, I didn’t think you’d come back.”

He hadn’t expected to come back to find her like this. Not that he’d say anything, but he’d sort of expected (ridiculously, he knew now) that when he returned, she’d be her usual guarded, calm self again. She always seemed to be so capable, so composed, so many aspects of her hidden so that she could provide support to the people around her. He’d thought that that would still stay the same after Angelus, but somehow the experience seemed to have made her more open.

Or perhaps—and this was a possibility he preferred, because it justified the decision he’d come to—perhaps his distancing himself from her had made her someone who felt confident enough to let herself be vulnerable. Perhaps she’d never really needed him as much as he liked to believe she did. Which would certainly be good, given the news he was about to deliver.

“About that,” said Giles carefully. “Jenny, is it possible that we could—ah—sit down?”

Jenny’s easy smile flickered. “Okay,” she said hesitantly, and walked over to the sofa, sitting down atop a pile of blankets.

Giles sat down in the chair next to her, turning to face her. “I’ve been considering our relationship quite thoroughly in my time away from Sunnydale,” he began carefully.

“Okay,” said Jenny again. Her smile was now completely gone.

“A-and I’ve come to a conclusion that makes me just as unhappy as I expect you’ll be—”

“Is this a breakup talk?” Jenny asked abruptly. Suddenly, her sweet unguardedness was gone, and she was crossing her arms in front of her chest. Giles saw the way her jaw set, and almost had to catch his breath, because the last time he’d seen her look so determinedly calm was when Angelus had been breaking her fingers. “Because if it is, Rupert, please just cut to the chase. I’ve had a long night.”

“It—” Giles ran a hand through his hair, then looked up at her. “I don’t want to endanger you,” he said finally, plaintively, trying to make her understand his point of view. “If you die—”

“If I die, I _fucking die._ ” Jenny’s voice was shaking. “You came back to Sunnydale to _break up with me?_ ”

“Jenny—”

“Why do you keep on getting fixated on _endangering_ me?” Jenny burst out, standing up from the couch. “What the hell is wrong with the idea that I’m a capable adult?”

“I’m not _questioning_ the fact that you’re a capable adult,” Giles persisted. “The romances between Watchers and civilians rarely ever end in anything but tragedy, and all our relationship has done is prove that I put you in constant danger.”

“For the _love of god,_ Rupert, just because you’re a Watcher doesn’t make you the all-knowing, wise one in our relationship!” Jenny exploded.

Giles stared at her. “I’m sorry,” he said, a sudden, cold anger rising in him, “are you insinuating that you somehow have managed to learn more than me with barely a year in the supernatural world to your name?”

“A year and a torture session and a demon possession and almost getting strangled on three different occasions,” Jenny listed off, almost in a sing-song voice. “Is that not enough experience for you?”

Giles felt a lump rise in his throat. “And I could have stopped that,” he said, “all of that, if we hadn’t been in love.”

“What if I think you’re worth that?” Jenny demanded. “You don’t get to make this decision for me. You can’t play the Watcher card in a romantic relationship.”

“You know that being a Watcher is more important than anything else in my life,” Giles replied quietly. He suddenly couldn’t find it in himself to be angry anymore. “You know how much I love you. It’s the only logical way—”

“It’s _bullshit._ ” Jenny wiped roughly at her eyes, and Giles suddenly realized that she was crying. “You don’t—you don’t get to say I’m good and pure and worthy of your protection or whatever kind of crap this is. I don’t deserve—don’t _need_ it. You shouldn’t make me—”

“Jenny,” said Giles softly, and took a step towards her.

“No.” Jenny looked up, stepping back and almost tripping over the couch. “No. You’re right. We need to break this off. As long as you think I’m some innocent in the line of fire, there’s no way we can have anything resembling a healthy relationship.”

“Jenny,” Giles said her name again, voice breaking, suddenly regretting every word he’d said. “Jenny, please—”

“Is that my necklace?”

Giles looked down, and realized that the rose quartz necklace had slipped through the collar of his shirt, catching the morning sunlight. “I—” he started.

Jenny swallowed hard. She was pressing her lips together so tightly that they were starting to turn white. “You brought my necklace with you,” she said, and she sounded a mixture of angry and touched. “Rupert—you can’t—” Taking a breath, she seemed to attempt to collect her thoughts before trying again. “You’re idealizing me,” she finally said. The anger seemed to have won.

“I wasn’t—”

Jenny stepped forward, stood on tiptoe, and unclasped the rose quartz necklace from around Giles’s neck. He couldn’t bring himself to stop her. “I’m not some blushing maiden blinded by my love for you,” she said firmly. “I know the risks. I know what I’m up against, and I’m ready to fight for it. But I don’t think you see that.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“You did.” Jenny nodded slowly, and then reached up and caressed his cheek. “I love you,” she said. “But until you see us as equals, I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

For the first time in a very long while, Giles was entirely lost for words.

Jenny’s hand dropped as she stepped back. Without a word, she left the room, heading into the kitchen.

* * *

 

Willow was gone. Jenny was glad for that at least.

She waited until Rupert left the house before she started crying.


	17. uncharted territory

Jenny went to get the bandages taken off of a few of her fingers two hours later, as she’d scheduled an appointment that day. Oz hadn’t come to drive her over, though, probably told by Willow that Rupert was with her and therefore taking care of her, so she came to the rational and reasonable decision to forgo calling the kids and drive to the hospital herself. Not exactly the safest thing to do, per se, and probably the only time she’d ever been grateful for living in Sunnydale (bloody and horrible as it was during the night, the days were relatively quiet), but she made it to the hospital safely enough. Especially considering that she’d been driving with broken fingers. She did almost run over a mailbox, but she could probably pay for damages or something.

“You have any family to pick you up after we take the casts off?” the nurse asked, sounding half concerned and half curious.

Jenny wanted to say _none,_ but thought of Willow’s sleepy eyes peering up at her over the mug of chamomile tea, and found that the answer wasn’t quite as certain as she was expecting. “Um,” she said finally. “It’s complicated.”

Her healed fingers seemed smaller than she remembered, and one of them had healed slightly crooked. Not enough to be a problem, but enough for her to notice. She flexed them, and found a sudden lump rising in her throat, because she’d wanted to feel happier than this when she was starting to get better.

“It’s common with injuries such as yours for there to be some lasting damage,” the nurse was saying sympathetically. “Much like the scar left over from…the man who brought you in said it was an animal bite?”

“I’m sorry?”

The nurse motioned to Jenny’s neck. “Your medical file says there was some scarring there,” she explained.

Jenny stared, and then remembered. “Oh,” she said finally. “Oh, I—haven’t really been looking at myself lately.” They’d taken a bandage off her neck, but she’d been too busy worrying about Rupert (and then the kids, and then Rupert again) to really check herself out in a mirror. Angel’s teeth had been in pretty deep, though, and he did seem to have this weird fixation with her neck, so— “Can you excuse me?” she inquired as calmly as she could. Judging by the nurse’s worried expression, she hadn’t done the best job. “I need to use the bathroom.”

“Of course,” the nurse replied, but Jenny was halfway out the door before she’d even started speaking.

She had three fingers back. Her left index finger, her left thumb, and her right pinky, the last of which still looked a little crooked. She still thought that she should feel a little better, but her hands didn’t look quite like hers anymore. Somewhere along the line, she’d gotten accustomed to the splints and casts. Jenny opened the door to the women’s restroom and took a few steadying breaths before heading over to the mirror and pushing her hair away from her neck.

There was a visible bite mark there, standing out clearly against her neck. Before she could stop herself, Jenny wondered if Rupert would have stayed if she’d shown him the bite mark, and then remembered that she hadn’t _wanted_ him to stay anyway, so it didn’t really matter in the long run. She had a feeling that the bite mark Drusilla had left on her wrist might have also scarred, but it was thankfully hidden by the cast on her wrist, so it wasn’t like she would _know_ for a while. Her wrist had apparently been broken pretty seriously.

She wasn’t going to be typing for a while. Maybe Angelus had known that she would survive, and that he would die at Buffy’s hands, and he’d wanted to make sure he left his mark on her. Kept her from doing something like what she’d done before.

“Fuck that,” said Jenny to the mirror, and saw the beginnings of a smile at her lips. The woman in the mirror had disheveled hair and an oval-shaped scar on her neck, but she also had a strange fire in her eyes that felt as unfamiliar as Jenny’s crooked fingers. Yeah, she’d lost, but she’d _survived._ That had to count for something.

* * *

 

Willow got a call in the middle of their movie-watching session, and the look on her face as she listened to the other end of the line made Xander feel a sudden, powerful fear. If Giles had died, or Ms. Calendar—he thought of the way Ms. Calendar had looked in Giles’s arms, the way Giles had held her, and shoved a whole handful of pretzels in his mouth to keep himself from thinking about the worst-case scenario.

Willow put the phone down on the counter, not even bothering to hang it up, and said in a shaking voice, “Giles and Ms. Calendar broke up.”

Okay. That wasn’t exactly in the Worst-Case Scenario Playbook. “I’m sorry, Will,” said Xander incredulously, “we are talking about the same Giles and Ms. Calendar who were always getting snuggly in the hospital beds?”

“And Giles might not come back,” Willow continued, and sat down on the ground next to the phone.

Deciding to take charge of the situation, Xander hurried over to the counter and picked up the phone. “Ms. Calendar?” he said tentatively.

 _“Not exactly,_ ” said Giles’s voice. Unlike Willow, he sounded oddly detached. “ _I was unsure whether Jenny would notify you of my decision to leave. She tends not to overshare._ ”

“Giles, what the hell?” Xander demanded fiercely. “She _needs_ you.” _We need you,_ he wanted to say, but that would probably sound weird and clingy and maybe Giles would want to leave even more because of it.

 _“She made it quite clear that she doesn’t appreciate that sort of statement,”_ Giles replied almost dryly.

“You can’t just—decide to leave just because Ms. Calendar doesn’t want you here!” Xander shouted.

Silence, then Giles said in a much less steady tone of voice, “ _She said that?_ ”

“You’re sure as hell acting like she did!”

“ _She didn’t—_ ” A long sigh, then finally, “ _Goodbye, Xander._ ”

“Giles—”

The dial tone rang through the phone. Xander slammed it against the receiver, hard, before sitting down next to Willow, who lay her head on his shoulder.

“He’s not supposed to go,” she said in a small voice. “He’s _Giles._ He stays.”

“Maybe he was only staying for Buffy,” said Xander, staring at the wall in front of them. Willow’s mom had some really neat wallpaper in her living room. “And then after that, maybe it was just Ms. Calendar. Maybe she’s gonna leave too, now that Giles is gone.”

“Xander, _stop,_ ” said Willow tearfully. “She wouldn’t.”

“We thought Giles wouldn’t.”

“It’s not—he’s still looking for Buffy! He’s going to come back—”

“He came back to break up with Ms. Calendar, and now he’s gone,” Xander replied firmly.

Willow burst into tears. Xander tried to feel bad, but couldn’t, because he’d never been this angry. What right did Giles have to leave them like that, just because everything he cared about in the town was gone? And for that matter, why the _hell_ had Giles acted like he’d ever cared about any of them when he’d really only loved Buffy and Ms. Calendar? Not like they’d loved him back, either, if they’d wanted him out of their lives. Maybe Ms. Calendar was _making_ Giles leave Sunnydale. Maybe _that_ was why—

And then Xander remembered the way Ms. Calendar had looked on the front porch, her face in her hands, and felt horribly guilty for wanting to blame her. There were so many other, better ways to spend his time. Backgammon, maybe. Probably with Ms. Calendar, so that maybe she wouldn’t look so tired and lonely all the time.

He put an arm around Willow, who shook him off. He placed his hand on her shoulder, and she turned towards him, now only sniffling. “It’s a mess,” he said finally. “I shouldn’t be so angry. I don’t think that’s what you need to hear.”

“Maybe it’s what you need to say,” said Willow finally.

Xander nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe.” He took her hand in his, squeezing it. “Still not the best thing to tell you, though.”

Willow giggled. She sounded a little sniffly, still.  “I can’t be mad at him,” she said finally. “I don’t think any of us are doing super well lately. Maybe Giles is just as confused as we are.”

This hadn’t actually occurred to Xander, but he didn’t want to admit it, so he nodded again and tried to look convincingly sympathetic. All he was feeling was a strange sort of worry. Giles had never been confused, at least not about things like this. Xander had seen Giles frightened, subdued, shaken, but he’d always gotten the sense that Giles had a general grasp of the situation. The idea that Giles had made a mistake was scary, much more so than the prospect of Giles never coming back.

The doorbell rang. Willow got up off the floor, hurrying to answer it, and Xander followed.

Ms. Calendar was standing outside, a few of her fingers no longer splinted, looking simultaneously more tired and more determined than Xander had ever seen her. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she had managed so much as a sound, Willow pulled her into a fierce hug.

Xander felt very much like he was intruding.

“It’s okay,” someone was saying tearfully, and he wasn’t sure if it was Ms. Calendar or Willow. He thought one of them might be crying. Maybe both. Giving in, Xander stepped awkwardly forward and patted Ms. Calendar on the shoulder.

“It’s cool, Xander,” said Ms. Calendar without letting go of Willow.

“Yeah, we know you care,” Willow agreed, and giggled, pulling away slightly to look up at Xander. “You’re officially exempted from all hug-giving duties.”

“Much obliged,” said Xander, and grinned a little awkwardly at the both of them.

* * *

 

They ordered pizza. Willow’s mom was out on a business trip, which was probably good, because Willow wasn’t entirely sure how to explain to her parents exactly why she and Xander were hanging out with their computer teacher over the summer. Chances were that they wouldn’t notice anyway, but it was sometimes nice to pretend that it was something to be worried about.

“Ick,” said Ms. Calendar. Some pizza cheese had caught on one of her splints.

“Here—” Willow handed her a napkin, which ripped on the splint. Xander snickered, which was somewhat encouraging in regards to lightening the mood. “Hand?” she requested, and Ms. Calendar obliged, awkwardly stretching her arm across the table.

“Maybe we should have gone with Chinese,” Xander commented.

“Forks and chopsticks are an impossibility with broken fingers,” said Ms. Calendar as Willow worked at the cheese. “Sorry, Willow,” she added.

“It’s fine!” Willow replied as cheerfully as she could, finally managing to get most of the cheese off Ms. Calendar’s splint. “It might be a little greasy.”

Ms. Calendar laughed, a short, almost painful sound, and then she abruptly covered her face with her hands. Xander looked startled, and Willow hastily moved to sit next to her. “No, I’m fine,” she said, her voice shaking. “I just—pizza grease.”

“Okay,” said Willow, who got the sense that the whole thing wasn’t actually about the pizza grease, and placed a hand over Ms. Calendar’s. “I know. Very stressful.”

Ms. Calendar looked up, smiled weakly, and said, “I think I’d like some yogurt. I mean, if you don’t mind—”

“More pizza for me,” said Xander with an awkwardly jovial tone, and took Ms. Calendar’s slice. Then, “Ms. Calendar, I’m sorry about Giles.”

Ms. Calendar’s smile slipped. “How did you—”

“He called,” Willow explained. “He said he wasn’t sure if you’d tell us.”

There was a strained silence before Ms. Calendar said finally, “I wanted you both to have hope that he’d come back at some point.”

“You don’t think he’s coming back?” Willow said, and tried to regulate the panic in her voice.

Ms. Calendar looked at them, looked at the last piece of pizza cheese stuck to her splint, and said finally, “Not soon.”

Willow couldn’t think of anything to say beyond “I’ll get you that yogurt,” which felt wildly inadequate, but Ms. Calendar did finally look up and manage a tired smile.

“He _will_ come back,” said Xander with sudden, surprising fierceness. Willow, remembering his angry pessimism, fumbled a little while trying to open the fridge and turning to look at Xander at the same time.

Ms. Calendar nodded slowly. “I hope so,” she said.

“Congrats on the fingers, by the way,” Xander added, and smiled awkwardly. “Very badass.”

“You should see my scar if you want badass,” Ms. Calendar quipped, and raised her hair away from her neck, revealing a neat circle in the shape of a vampire bite.

Willow felt her stomach clench and she dropped the yogurt.

“No, Willow, Willow, it’s fine,” Ms. Calendar was saying, but suddenly Willow was crying again, which wasn’t super great for the whole badassery thing. Ms. Calendar (when had she gotten up from the kitchen table?) hugged her, hard, and pulled back, smoothing Willow’s hair out of her face. “It’s okay,” she said with a gentle firmness. “It’s good.”

“He hurt you,” said Willow in a small voice.

“But I was strong,” said Ms. Calendar. “And I’m still here even after that.”

Willow sniffled, nodded, managed a smile. “I wish I had one of those,” she said, only halfway joking. “If it means you get to be brave after.”

“Oh, trust me, you don’t want one,” said Ms. Calendar with a light laugh that sounded somewhat forced. “You don’t need a scar to know you’re brave.”

“But if it helps you—”

“We’ve all got scars here,” Ms. Calendar told her. “Mine just stay with me. You figure out what reminds you that you’re brave and you keep it with you, because we’re probably all going to need a lot of courage as of now.”

“Uncharted territory,” said Xander through a mouthful of pizza.

“Exactly,” said Ms. Calendar, and grinned at Xander, who looked somewhat surprised that he’d managed to come up with a good answer. “This is all new. But we’re going to figure it out, okay?”

“Because we’re Scoobies?”

“Because,” Ms. Calendar hesitated, closed her eyes, and then said in an unusually uncertain voice, “because we’re a family.”

“You’re getting mushy,” Xander commented before choking a little on the pizza.

“Drink some water,” Willow instructed him, and hugged Ms. Calendar again. There seemed to be a lot of hugging and crying going on today.


	18. accuracy

“It’s more of a—” Jenny made an effort to clench her fist, but her left hand still had one last bandage around its thumb. “Pretend my thumb’s on the outside,” she instructed, “and just go from there. Putting your thumb inside your fist and punching someone could really hurt your thumb.”

“Yeah, but you should see the other guy,” Xander joked.

“You’re making a fist!” said Willow delightedly. “How does your hand feel?”

“Do you two _want_ me to train you?” Jenny inquired with amusement. “I’m going to need your full attention.”

“But your _hand,_ ” Willow persisted, beaming and reaching out to link her fingers with Jenny’s. “You can _hold things._ And _pick things up._ ”

“Yes, something that won’t do me any good if I die on patrol, which will most likely happen if I don’t have two capable kids who I feel okay sending off into a spooky graveyard.” Jenny directed a pointed look at Willow, and had a feeling it wasn’t as strict as she’d like it to be.

She was happy to have a functioning hand, and it was a little strange to be happy when the first person she’d ever fallen in love with might never come back into her life. She felt like she should be a lot more off-balance than she was. But Willow and Xander both seemed so determined to fill any and every empty space in her life, and it didn’t leave much time for sadness. She suspected that it was their way of thanking her for staying when Rupert and Buffy didn’t, and when she of all people had the fewest reasons to keep living in Sunnydale.

“So you’re saying we’re not capable?” Xander said, feigning a hurt expression.

“I’m saying you have potential,” Jenny replied patiently, “and that you need to learn how to utilize it.” She sat down on top of the library table, picking up one of the target pads and tossing it to Xander. “You hold this, Willow punches,” she instructed them both. “Twenty times and then you switch, okay?”

“How many vampires are we gonna catch with a right hook?” Xander objected.

“It’s about building muscle and accuracy, not technique,” Jenny reminded him. “Technique comes after your punches start actually having an effect.”

“She’s got you there,” Willow giggled.

“Hey, you too,” Jenny said pointedly, but she had a feeling she was smiling. 

She wasn’t quite as good at Rupert’s businesslike approach to training, and she had next to no idea what she was doing (save for the bits and pieces she’d picked up while sitting in on some of Buffy’s drills), but she’d looked up some stuff online with her newly healed fingers and had decided that Willow and Xander knowing some things was better than them running into dangerous situations with no way to protect themselves.

 _Like going into a mansion with a crossbow and broken fingers,_ she thought, and felt a little glad that she hadn’t mentioned that excursion to Rupert during their big fight.

Willow was throwing punches. Jenny reminded her not to lock her elbows before getting up and beginning to sort through the weapons. Some spare stakes, a few bottles of holy water, some garlic—honestly, Rupert never really utilized the garlic, probably because it was more useful for protection than for fighting. One couldn’t really fight vampires if they were repelled by the garlic. Jenny picked up a handful of garlic, pocketed one of the bottles of holy water, adjusted the cross around her neck (her fingers traced the bumpy edges of her scar), and headed out to check on Willow and Xander.

“You punch like a girl,” Willow was teasing Xander.

“Buffy’s a girl,” Xander objected, “and besides which, that’s sexist.”

“Okay, then, you punch like a Xander.”

“Now I’m _really_ gonna get you,” Xander informed Willow, which made her double over giggling.

Jenny rolled her eyes fondly and walked past them both with the garlic, careful to avoid Xander’s flailing arms. “Accuracy,” she reminded him, setting the garlic down on the library table.

It felt a little strange to be training like this. Rupert had almost always been in the library when Jenny was here, and Buffy had _always_ been the only one to use the equipment Willow and Xander were going at. Jenny almost felt like she was intruding, like they were playing at being Watcher and Slayers. There was a lively grin on Willow’s face that Jenny had never seen on Buffy’s when _she_ was training.

“Who’s gonna train you?” Xander asked suddenly, looking over at Jenny and nearly punching Willow in the face. “Yikes—sorry, Will.”

Jenny considered this, and then smiled slightly. “I’ll just be your Watcher,” she said. “Like Giles, except cooler and with more broken bones.”

“And minus the liking-Buffy-more-than-us,” Xander added in a low voice to Willow.

“ _Xander,_ ” said Jenny reprovingly.

“She only ever uses that voice with you,” Willow teased.

“It’s pretty justified, I think,” said Jenny, crossing her arms and fixing Xander with the stare Rupert had once described as “able to cut diamond.”

“He left,” said Xander stubbornly, “and if you guys had broken up while Buffy was here, he would have stayed.”

“It’s not a fair comparison to make,” said Jenny, and the words were the hardest she’d ever had to say. The last thing she wanted was to defend Rupert’s actions (especially when she personally thought he was being an idiot), but she was learning fast that her own personal biases weren’t things that she wanted to force onto Xander and Willow. “He’s spent his entire life preparing to be a Watcher, and Buffy’s a big part of that.”

“Yeah, well, life changes on you,” said Xander sharply. “It’s not fair for him to be so—fixated.”

The part of Jenny that was still bitter about the breakup and angry that she missed Rupert so much wanted to say that yeah, Xander, it _wasn’t_ fair, it was stupid and awful, and she hated that all of them had to deal with Sunnydale problems without proper resources, and she hated that she was teaching kids to punch when her broken thumb wouldn’t let her make a fist, and she was tired and sad and she wanted to go home to the guy she was still stupid enough to be in love with. But she looked up, managed a smile, and said, “We make do with what we have, Xander, and we don’t dwell on what we can’t change. Okay?”

Xander didn’t say anything.

“Okay?” said Jenny again.

Reluctantly, Xander nodded. Then he said, “It just—doesn’t seem fair to _you._ ”

“I’m touched,” said Jenny, and meant it. “But I think I’ll be okay.”

* * *

 

They trained for about two hours until Snyder came in and kicked them out, saying that they shouldn’t be hanging around school when school was out and just because Ms. Calendar was a teacher didn’t mean she could make impromptu visits with students and things like that. Jenny stopped listening about thirty seconds in, but stayed there for a few minutes to give Willow and Xander time to vacate the premises.

“You owe me big-time,” she informed them upon reaching the parking lot. “That was the worst thing that happened to me all year.”

“Worse than breaking up with Giles?” Xander asked.

He was grinning, in the same way that he did with Willow and Buffy, and it wasn’t a smile that Jenny had ever remembered being directed at her. She felt herself smiling back. “Much worse,” she said sardonically.

“Worse than Angelus?” Xander persisted playfully.

With anyone else, Jenny would have been offended. “Have you _seen_ Snyder on a disciplinary kick?” she replied, quirking an eyebrow. “You guys are lucky. You don’t have to sit through the endless faculty meetings and get called out for PDA.”

“I’m pretty sure he calls everyone out for PDA,” Willow pointed out. “That might not just be you.”

This sparked a conversation between Xander and Willow regarding what kind of PDA Snyder would approve of, and what they’d been called out for, and whether or not Snyder had ever actually known the touch of a woman (that was mostly Xander; Willow seemed thoroughly disturbed by the concept). Jenny unlocked the car and the kids got in the back. She’d specifically bought a small VW a few years back, seeing as she’d never thought she’d have more than one person in her car at any given time, but the kids always managed to squeeze into the back. Maybe she’d need a bigger car.

The thought made her grin a little as she started up the engine. Normally, she wouldn’t have driven the kids around, what with her broken fingers, but she had one and a half working hands (even though her wrist hadn’t completely healed yet) and it was enough for her to manage to drive a car pretty effectively. The streets were usually empty this time of day, anyway.

“Music!” Xander called from the backseat.

“I’ll turn on the radio,” Jenny called back, smiling to herself as she did so. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been in a car full of people she cared about. Not only that, people who she was certain cared about _her._

Abruptly, painfully, she thought of Rupert. Wherever he was, he wasn’t going to have this kind of community and loyalty to fall back into, especially not now. She wondered if he knew what he’d given up, if he missed it, if he was lonely. She wished that she wasn’t so damn forgiving, because there was a part of her that wanted to hunt him down and kiss him until they were both laughing again, take his hand and lead him back home.

She’d thought home was where the heart was, and she’d thought her heart was with Rupert. It was strange to consider the fact that maybe she had been wrong on both counts.

Jenny was jolted from her thoughts by the sound of Willow’s slightly off-key singing, bright and cheerful even while it was somewhat flat and grating. She looked up into the rearview mirror and saw Xander tapping to the beat on the car door, grinning at Willow with a proud expression.

She loved these kids. She hadn’t expected to love them so much, but she loved these kids, and she got the sense that they didn’t get as much love or attention as most kids did. Willow’s mom never seemed to be around, and Xander got a closed-off expression whenever Jenny brought up his parents, and it was strange to think about Willow and Xander as outsiders in their own homes. She’d never known that they’d had that in common.

Jenny hummed along to the music, quietly, and felt a new kind of joy at Willow’s delighted laugh. This was different from the rush she’d gotten after she’d translated the curse, or the way she’d felt when Rupert had told her he loved her. She realized, suddenly, that she felt safe and warm on the sunlit street, Xander and Willow in the backseat. Maybe she _had_ done something right, at least by Xander and Willow. She’d never managed to hurt them through her inaction, or with her action, or anything, really. They were happy that she was here.

“Can we stop for ice cream?” Willow called.

“I have some in the fridge at home,” Jenny called back, and smiled.


	19. impermanence

“You’re looking maudlin,” Xander commented from the sofa. “Like, more than your usual maudlin.”

“Feet off the couch,” Ms. Calendar instructed him patiently, putting her rose quartz necklace down on the mantel and walking over to sit next to Xander. “And where did you learn the word _maudlin?_ ”

“I know big words,” Xander replied in a self-satisfied sort of way.

“I used it to describe Mrs. Summers and Xander wanted to know what it meant,” Willow explained from the chair, sitting up and putting her book down to look at Ms. Calendar. One more finger had healed recently, but other than that, Ms. Calendar looked more exhausted than usual. It was heightened a little by the fact that she looked like she was trying to hide it. “I think Xander’s right.”

“Just tired,” said Ms. Calendar lightly.

“Lies,” said Xander dramatically, and wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Come on, dish.”

“ _Xander,_ ” said Willow somewhat reprovingly, but she couldn’t hide a smile.

Ms. Calendar opened her mouth, shut it, seemed to contemplate her words, and finally said, “I worry about the both of you.”

“Aww.” Willow got up off the couch, sitting down next to Ms. Calendar and trying not to show how touched she was. She couldn’t remember the last time an adult said _I worry about you,_ besides maybe Giles, and Giles apparently didn’t worry enough to stay. “We’ll stay indoors for the whole summer if you want!” she said quite seriously. “Safety issues and all that.”

“I don’t know if—” Xander began uncomfortably.

“I said _indoors,_ not _in your parents’ house,_ ” said Willow hastily. Xander’s parents weren’t the types you wanted to be around for too long, especially if you were Xander.

“Oh.” Xander cast a sideways look at Ms. Calendar to see if she’d noticed before smiling relievedly. “Cool. Dad’s always getting on my ass when I’m inside too long.”

“I’m not planning on keeping you two under lock and key,” Ms. Calendar said carefully. “What do you guys usually do during the summer?”

Willow shrugged. “My mom’s not really that into vacations,” she said, which was true. She didn’t say that her mom wasn’t really into spending a lot of time with her anyway, at least not now that Willow wasn’t the Adorable Genius Girl. She’d lost her novelty as a teenager.

Xander looked down at his hands and didn’t say anything.

Ms. Calendar was quiet, looking at both of them with an unreadable expression. Then she said, “What would you say to driving down to LA and hitting the beach tomorrow?”

Willow stared at her.

“Don’t you have, like, twenty broken bones?” Xander said incredulously.

“That’s something of an exaggeration,” said Ms. Calendar. The corner of her mouth twitched. “And I think that after this trash fire of a year, we could all use some sun. It’s really nice down there.”

Willow stared at her, and tried to think of something to say that would convey how unbelievably wonderful that would be.

“Can you _drive?_ ” Xander added.

“By the time we leave, one hand should be good to go,” Ms. Calendar replied, “but if you guys don’t feel comfortable with that, I was thinking we ask Oz once he gets back from his vacation. Or you could drive, Xander. Do you have a license?”

“Not in the technical sense, no,” said Xander uncomfortably.

“I do,” said Willow.

Xander and Ms. Calendar both turned to look at her. “Really?” said Xander in surprise.

“I got one a while back,” Willow replied, trying to sound airy and cool. At Ms. Calendar’s raised eyebrow, she admitted, “A couple weeks ago, I just—wanted to make sure one of us could drive, you know? In the event of a Scooby getaway or something.”

No one said anything about the fact that Giles could have driven them, were he there, but Willow was pretty sure everyone was thinking about it.

Ms. Calendar smiled slightly. “Good planning, Will,” she said, and Willow felt the suppressed smile finally win out at the quietly proud look on Ms. Calendar’s face. “So is this something you’d both want to do?”

“Shouldn’t we be focusing on patrolling and stuff?” Xander pointed out without much enthusiasm.

“I’ve got, like, twenty broken bones,” said Ms. Calendar, quirking a smile at Xander, “and I’m still not sold on you two being ready to patrol, so a vacation seems like a reasonable way to spend the time before I’m at least a little better.”

“Then I’m in,” said Xander. He was grinning too, brighter than Willow had seen him smile all summer. “It’s been a while since I’ve been to a real beach. Can we have a picnic?”

“I think I have an old beach umbrella!” Willow added excitedly. “I can borrow it from my mom or something. Are we going to stay overnight?”

“I mean, LA isn’t too far a drive, so we can probably just hang out there for the day,” Xander pointed out. “Saves Ms. Calendar from having to pay for a hotel room.”

“Unless you guys want to stay overnight?” Ms. Calendar inquired.

Xander started explaining why LA hotels were expensive and therefore probably full of lots of Cordelias, and one Cordelia was enough for him, thank you very much, and Ms. Calendar had an amused little smirk on her face that Willow hadn’t actually seen since Giles had left. She settled back into the couch, not really listening, because it had been a while since anyone had seemed this excited or happy.

She almost felt a little guilty, because maybe they shouldn’t be this happy when Buffy was goodness knows where and Giles had left _everyone_ after Ms. Calendar had broken up with him. But it was somehow reassuring to know that if it ended up being just the three of them, they’d still manage to fight crime and protect Sunnydale. Willow closed her eyes and tried to savor the moment; if anything, this year had taught her that nothing was ever really permanent, no matter how much she wanted it to be.

 _Or didn’t want it to be,_ she thought, and smiled a little. Maybe someday Buffy might come back, no matter how unchanging her absence might seem right now. Impermanence went two ways, and in Ms. Calendar’s sunny living room, it was easy to be hopeful.

* * *

It had been a very spur-of-the-moment decision, half because Jenny knew it wasn’t something Rupert would condone (and some small, petty part of her wanted him to come back and be appalled and angry, because then maybe he’d take her off whatever stupid pedestal he’d placed her on and they could be on equal footing again) and half because she hated that these good, brave kids didn’t have the loving home lives they deserved.

Xander’s parents apparently hadn’t technically agreed to his accompanying Jenny and Willow—something about him being lazy enough during the school year and not deserving a vacation, he’d said, with a nonchalant expression and a laugh in his voice that somewhat unnerved Jenny. As much as she’d heard Rupert worry about Buffy, she couldn’t recollect him ever talking about Xander’s home life, which bothered her more than she liked.

“They won’t notice if I skip town,” he said, tossing a duffel bag into the back of Jenny’s car. “They’ll just think I’m staying with Willow or something. I did that a lot last summer.”

Jenny forced a smile and reached out to Xander. Her left hand had mostly healed, save for a lingering achiness in her thumb, and it was kind of nice to have enough mobility to lightly squeeze Xander’s shoulder. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she let her hand drop, but Xander’s small, awkward smile told her that she’d done the right thing. “Willow, you got your bag?” she inquired.

Willow skipped over to them, wearing an oversized pair of sunglasses. She looked happy and centered, something that made Jenny _really_ smile. “Already packed!” she replied cheerfully, and placed her bag next to Xander’s in the trunk. “What about you?”

Jenny held up her small beach bag, throwing it somewhat unceremoniously on top of the other two. “Not a lot for me to bring,” she said. “I already put the picnic basket in.”

“Picnic basket?” said Xander eagerly.

“It’s a _beach trip_ , Xander,” said Jenny in amusement. “Were you expecting me to _not_ bring snacks? We’re going to be gone all day.”

“I don’t go on a lot of beach trips,” Xander explained. “And the few times I did were school, and you’re a teacher, so—”

“Fair enough,” Jenny conceded. “But I’m not your teacher during the summer, or I wouldn’t be taking you on a beach trip. We’d be holed up in the library doing punching drills if I decided to take the mentor thing as seriously as—” She hesitated. “Some people.”

Willow’s smile faded slightly.

“We going?” Xander asked, his voice awkwardly loud. Without waiting for an answer, he opened the car door, clambered into the front seat, and shut the door behind him.

“I wish Buffy was here,” Willow said, quiet and almost guilty. “Buffy loves the beach. She’d have so much fun leaving Sunnydale for a day.”

“Rupert probably hates the beach,” said Jenny, and laughed, but it came out a little shaky. “You know. All that sand and sun. He always complained about how sunny California was, and I pointed out that the town’s literally _called_ Sunnydale.”

“Sunny town.”

“Yeah.”

They stood there in silence together, and then Willow said, “I’m glad you stayed.”

Jenny looked over at her. Willow’s eyes weren’t visible behind the sunglasses, but she had a feeling they might be a little teary. “This is going to be a happy, relaxing beach day, okay?” she said with conviction. “We’re not gonna get all morose about Giles leaving and we’re going to keep on believing that Buffy’s okay. We need a happy day this summer.”

Willow nodded. “I know,” she said. Then, a little shyly, “I love you, you know that?”

It took Jenny a moment to realize that Willow had probably been too sleepy to remember telling her she loved her, and that in Willow’s eyes, this would be the first time she heard Jenny say it back. “I love you too,” she said simply, and straightened Willow’s sunglasses, which were slipping down her nose. “Beach time?”

“Beach time,” Willow agreed decisively. “Happy, relaxing, all that fun stuff. Did you pack cookies from that deli we like?”

“I’m insulted that you even had to ask,” Jenny quipped as she and Willow headed over to the car.


	20. doom and gloom

The beach turned out to be one that Buffy had mentioned going to on one of her vacations, and Willow wasn’t sure how she felt about that. It was gorgeous, though, and that took away some of the lingering nerves that came from wondering if she’d see Buffy sunbathing in one of the lawn chairs. Xander had a disposable camera, and as soon as they arrived at the beach, he commenced to use up all his film snapping pictures of a seagull choking on a Cheez-It. Ms. Calendar took sympathy on him and bought him another camera at a small shop near the beach, with the reluctantly amused explanation that “photo opportunities like that only come once in a lifetime.” Willow was pretty sure Ms. Calendar just wanted to make the vacation really nice for all of them, but she didn’t say anything, save for a small grin that Ms. Calendar caught her eye and secretively returned.

Upon their return to the beach (now with three new disposable cameras, seeing as Ms. Calendar had wisely and correctly deduced that Xander would have a lot of pictures he’d want to take), Xander dashed off towards the ocean, and Willow followed eagerly. Ms. Calendar couldn’t really swim, since the lining of her cast wasn’t waterproof, so she had brought a nice umbrella and some reading material, settled on their blanket with a book and a can of soda.

Willow spent a few minutes playing in the surf before running over to the blanket, flopping down next to Ms. Calendar in the shade of the umbrella. “Whatcha reading?” she inquired, a little breathless from the jog.

“Blah blah mystical portents blah,” said Ms. Calendar vaguely. She didn’t look quite as relaxed as Willow would have expected from someone on a beach.

“Weren’t you the one who was pushing the whole _vacation_ thing?” said Willow, trying to manage gentleness and pointedness at the same time. “We’re not on the Hellmouth today.”

Ms. Calendar smiled a little wryly. Then she said, “I never realized how much the Hellmouth weighed on him.”

“Hmm?”

“Rupert.”

“Okay, that’s it, you’ve lost book privileges,” said Willow determinedly, taking the book from Ms. Calendar and holding it tightly to her chest. “Xander and I aren’t the only ones who need to relax.”

“Maybe the book _is_ relaxing,” said Ms. Calendar somewhat unconvincingly.

“ _Portents and Prophecies: A Guide to the Foreboding Future,_ ” Willow read, and looked up at Ms. Calendar with feigned inquisitiveness. “So does reading about doom and gloom make you happy?”

Ms. Calendar opened her mouth, shut it, and pressed her lips together before saying, “There’s a lot to _do_ , Willow. Lots of research and preparations and fact-checking just to see if there’s an apocalypse next Tuesday or if I mistranslated the damn Sumerian prophecy. I have to learn _Sumerian._ If I can figure out how to keep the both of you safe and make sure no one dies in the next few weeks, I think that’ll qualify as making me happy.”

“You don’t have to make yourself into Giles, Ms. Calendar,” said Willow quietly. “You’re you.”

“I’m not trying to—” Ms. Calendar drew in a breath, looked at the old books around her, and something shifted in her face. The last traces of relaxation seemed gone, and Willow suddenly felt guilty for bringing the topic up. “I know I’m not him,” she said. “But he wasn’t dedicated just because it was in his nature. Someone’s got to be planning and preparing, and now it has to be me.” She looked up at Willow, smiled a little sadly.

“If it makes you feel better,” Willow began hurriedly, but Ms. Calendar had taken the book from Willow and placed it on top of the other ones. “I want you to have a vacation day too,” she said.

Ms. Calendar nodded slowly. “I get that,” she said simply. “But Willow, it’s not your responsibility to take care of me.”

“It is if no one else is doing it,” Willow replied, and meant it. “It’d be different if I knew you had Giles, but—”

“Willow, I’m an adult,” said Ms. Calendar, now turning fully on the blanket to look Willow in the eye. “I know you want me to be happy, but you have to consider the fact that my problems aren’t things you can guide me through.” She didn’t say it angrily, or exasperatedly; there was an understanding firmness in her tone. “You’re right, though,” she added, and smiled ruefully. “I could probably use a vacation.”

Willow looked down at her hands, feeling a mixture of embarrassed and sad. “Then I wish I was older,” she said, “so I could help.”

Ms. Calendar moved closer on the blanket and placed a finger under Willow’s chin, gently tilting it up so Willow was looking her in the eye. “Hey,” she said. “You’re a big help already.”

“You sure?” Willow asked a little doubtfully.

“Positive.” Ms. Calendar let her hand drop. “It’s just not always in ways you can see. Put a little trust in me, okay?”

“Not _all_ the time,” said Willow. “Not when you’re reading creepy prophecy books instead of spending time at the beach.”

“Fair enough,” Ms. Calendar agreed, and got up, stepping out of her sandals. “I think I can at least wade around in the shallower part of the ocean, right?” she said conversationally. “As long as I don’t let the cast get wet.”

“Seems reasonable,” Willow said, smiling carefully at Ms. Calendar as she got up herself. “Can I come with you?”

“I’d like that,” Ms. Calendar replied, and her all-the-way-healed left hand reached out to take Willow’s as they headed towards the ocean.

It was sunny out, and the ocean was a gorgeous shade of blue. Xander kept on snapping pictures of both of them in the surf like some kind of overenthusiastic dad. Ms. Calendar’s hair was getting blown around like crazy, and she pushed up her sunglasses to keep her hair out of her face. “I need a haircut,” she called laughingly to Willow. “Long hair doesn’t sit well on me.”

“I think you look pretty!” Willow enthused, and blushed a little at Ms. Calendar’s surprised smile. “Long hair or short hair, you know—” She waved a hand vaguely, beaming. “Maybe I’ll get my hair cut too,” she suggested, imagining shoulder-length hair that would blow around like Ms. Calendar’s.

“Maybe I can _cut_ your hair,” Ms. Calendar joked, holding up her right arm. “Perfect way to see how good I am at doing things with a cast.”

“No offense meant, Ms. Calendar, but I’d rather let Xander cut it,” Willow teased.

“What’s _that_ supposed to mean?” Xander demanded, but he was grinning too. “I have perfectly good hair-cutting skills! Ask Cordelia’s Barbies!”

Ms. Calendar laughed, and seemed so surprised by the sound that she nearly slipped and fell. As it was, the bottom of her sundress was now soaked with ocean water, and it made Willow glad that she herself had opted for shorts and a T-shirt. “You know, as your teacher, I can put you in detention for destruction of another student’s property,” she called to Xander, still grinning.

“It was second grade show and tell and you weren’t even in Sunnydale then!” Xander called back indignantly.

“You cut up Cordelia’s Barbies during show and tell?” Ms. Calendar said disbelievingly.

“He has a bad track record with Barbies,” Willow explained in a mock-whisper.

“I _heard that—_ ” Xander sprinted up to both of them, splashing them with water (Willow made sure to step in between him and Ms. Calendar’s cast), and snapped another picture of the both of them before shoving his camera into his pocket. “I’m outnumbered,” he said dramatically. “Where’s Oz? I need some man power in here.”

“ _Man power_ ,” said Ms. Calendar dismissively. “Who, exactly, gets called as a Vampire Slayer?”

“And wouldn’t Oz be on my side?” Willow added innocently.

“Awful,” said Xander, and raced back towards the blanket, flopping down in Ms. Calendar’s spot and pretending to take a long sip from her soda.

“Soda theft is two weeks of detention!” Ms. Calendar called across the beach, so loudly and laughingly that more than one person turned to look at them. Heedless of this, Ms. Calendar continued, “Don’t think I’m not above abusing my teacher position, because you know that— _Rupert?_ ”

Willow blinked. She looked first at Ms. Calendar, then at Xander, then at Giles, who was frozen on the beach, wide eyes fixed on both of them.

* * *

 

Jenny stared. She wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do. What was the protocol for running into your ex on a random LA beach? And for that matter, what the hell was Rupert _doing_ on a random LA beach? He was wearing a button-down, sleeves rolled up, and carrying his tweed jacket over one shoulder. He looked his usual brand of gentlemanly and sweet, but the difference was that it currently made her want to kick something instead of kiss him.

“Ms. Calendar,” said Willow somewhat nervously, and that’s when Jenny made her decision. How _dare_ he show up on the _one day_ she and the kids were supposed to be having a relaxing, fun vacation, away from the fact that he’d left just like Buffy? How _dare_ he show up and make Willow say her name like that?

She gave Willow a smile that she hoped was reassuring before hurrying up the beach, eyes blazing. “ _What,_ ” she said, voice sharp and angry, “do you think you’re doing here?”

“It _is_ a public beach,” said Rupert a little nervously.

“You hate the beach!” Jenny exploded. “And this is _Los Angeles!_ ”

“I’m just going to—”

“Don’t you _dare_ walk away from me,” Jenny said sharply. “I deserve an explanation.”

“Yes, well, far be it from me to deny my ex-girlfriend a detailed summary of my every reason for being on this beach,” said Rupert irritably. “Seeing as you feel so entitled to my life even when you’ve made it clear what you think of the decisions I make.”

“You mean your horrible communication skills that prevent you from actually _talking_ to me about the decisions you make?” Jenny retorted, trying her best to ignore the sudden tears in her eyes. They’d been broken up twice before, and not once had Rupert used the finality of _ex-girlfriend_. “Because if so, go fuck yourself.” She turned back towards the ocean and began to walk towards Willow.

Rupert caught her arm. Jenny felt a rush of panic at the unwanted touch and jerked her arm away from him, turning around to shove him hard in the chest. “Get _off_ me!” she shouted, trying to tamp down her fear.

There was a stricken look on Rupert’s face. “I’m sorry,” he said. His voice shook. “I didn’t intend—”

“What are you doing here?” Jenny said fiercely. “If you’re so _sorry,_ then tell me.”

“This is a beach Buffy frequents on her summer vacation,” Rupert explained, his voice low so as not to attract attention. Given that a good portion of the beach was now staring at them, Jenny figured that this was something of a lost cause. “I thought perhaps she might have come here to think or relax.”

“Oh,” said Jenny, and just like that, she couldn’t find the energy to be angry anymore. “Do you—have you found anything that might indicate she was here?”

“Not currently,” Rupert replied, and smiled uncomfortably. It didn’t reach his eyes.

Jenny read between the lines. He hadn’t found anything new about Buffy, he’d probably thrown himself into finding something new about Buffy, he was probably throwing his own health out the window in order to find something new about Buffy. She wanted to ask him if he was getting enough sleep, or tell him she was sure he’d find Buffy eventually, but the fact remained that he didn’t see her as his equal, and she couldn’t give him love and appreciation when he didn’t understand the thought and care behind it. “We should get going, then,” she said. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your search.”

“What brought you here?” Rupert inquired somewhat hesitantly.

“Beach day,” Jenny replied, and glanced over her shoulder. Willow was still standing in the surf, holding her sunglasses and watching them both with wide, nervous eyes. Xander stood with her, now, a hand on her elbow, a similar expression on his face. “Thought we could use the relaxation.”

Rupert looked down. “I’m incredibly sorry that I came here, then,” he said quietly. “I’ll go, if you like.”

“It’s okay.” Now it was Jenny’s turn for a fake smile, she supposed. “It’s a public beach. The kids and I were gearing up to go home, anyway.” The first time she’d called Sunnydale _home,_ and Rupert wasn’t a part of it. “I hope you find her,” she said, and meant it.

“Thank you.” Rupert looked up at her and smiled sadly, inclining his head before turning away and walking in the opposite direction.


	21. tough decisions

“Ms. Calendar—”

“I’m fine.”

“Ms. _Calendar—_ ”

“Look, it was a very emotionally charged moment, and I’m fine, and I just need a cup of coffee,” said Ms. Calendar, crossing her arms over her chest. Willow blinked; even under the shade of the umbrella, it was quite hot. “Maybe iced coffee,” Ms. Calendar amended.

“You didn’t seem fine when you were yelling at Giles,” said Xander carefully.

“Well, I’m fine now, so maybe we should leave the beach, and I should grab some iced coffee, and we should go home,” Ms. Calendar responded without looking at either of them.

“What happened to beach day?” Willow asked, unable to keep the plaintive, sad note out of her voice.

“Let’s be real, I’ve kind of killed the mood anyway with all the yelling,” said Ms. Calendar shortly, and got up off the blanket. “You guys up to helping me pack?”

Willow looked at Ms. Calendar, thought about all the books that Giles had left behind without a second thought, and suddenly felt a rush of furious anger. Getting up off the blanket, she began to walk, and when Ms. Calendar began to say something that was probably “where are you going” or “don’t do that,” Willow _sprinted._

The thing about Giles was that he wasn’t one to run away from uncomfortable situations. He was still walking along the beach at a relatively slow pace, eyes directed at his feet as though _he_ was the one who had been hurt by the encounter. It was Ms. Calendar whose day had been ruined with a capital R, Ms. Calendar who’d _stayed_ when everyone had left and made Willow tea and taken them all to the beach because she wanted them to be happy, and Giles had no right to act like _he_ was making some kind of tough decision.

“Running away,” Willow shouted, “is _not_ a tough decision!”

Giles turned, looking at her. His eyes were horribly sad, and it only served to anger Willow more. Which was weird, because up until now she’d mostly just cried over how everyone had left and crossed her fingers that they’d come back. She’d been so upset and hopeful and she’d wanted to think that the people she loved were struggling just as much as she was, but seeing Giles walk away— _really_ walk away, without even looking back—had made her realize that maybe he hadn’t put as much thought into his problems as she’d liked to believe.

“Willow,” said Giles quietly.

“You didn’t just leave _her!_ ” Willow was too angry to start crying. She’d been doing enough of that lately. “You left _all of us!_ You left _Xander_ and he was sure you were never going to come back. He’s been saying all these things about how you only loved Buffy, how you were only _her Watcher_ and you couldn’t give a damn about the rest of us—”

“Willow,” Xander called from their blanket. She ignored him.

“You _know_ none of us are cut out to fight!” Willow exploded. “Ms. Calendar’s teaching us stuff while her wrist is still broken! And you left us all alone on a _Hellmouth_ to do _guesswork_ about how we’re supposed to fill in for a Watcher and a Slayer! You never cared about us at all, if you left us like that, just thinking about yourself and how much Angel hurt _you_ and I _miss_ you so, so much but it’s like _—_ I never mattered to you at all and I—”

She stopped, breathing hard. Some of those words might not have been meant for Giles.

Giles opened his mouth to say something, but Willow didn’t hear what it was. She turned, looking back to the blanket. Xander and Ms. Calendar were both sitting and staring at her semi-incredulously, and she was starting to realize that they might be all she had, now. From what she’d seen, it seemed incredibly unlikely that Giles would come back to Sunnydale if Ms. Calendar was there. And Willow wasn’t giving up Ms. Calendar for Giles, because no one had made her tea and stroked her hair since she was very, very small. 

It seemed like a weird game of chess. Angelus took out Ms. Calendar, which took out Giles. Ms. Calendar got better, and Giles got worse. Buffy still hadn’t shown up yet. Willow was starting to think she might never show up again, which _hurt._

“Bye, Giles,” she said, voice flat and tired, and she walked back up the beach, sitting down next to Ms. Calendar. She felt Ms. Calendar’s hand take off her hat and smooth her hair down, which didn’t make _everything_ better, but it was kind of a start.

* * *

 

The car didn’t have the same cheerful atmosphere as before, and Jenny was too emotionally exhausted to contemplate whether or not she missed it. Willow was resting her head on Xander’s shoulder in the background, dozing; it seemed as though her outburst had taken a lot out of her. Jenny knew the feeling.

Jenny was driving, since Willow really needed some rest, and her driving with one hand didn’t exactly take away from the tension in the car. She hoped she didn’t get some kind of ticket, but then again, there were _much_ worse things that could happen to her. Like torture. Or having to leave her wonderful, bad-at-communicating boyfriend.

She pulled up in front of a small, homey-looking diner that reminded her of a place near the apartment she’d lived in before Sunnydale. “I’m gonna grab some food,” she said quietly. “You two want anything?”

“We’re good,” said Xander. Then, “You good?”

Jenny smiled at him. “I’m working on it,” she replied, and leaned briefly into the back of the car to squeeze Xander’s shoulder. He smiled back, which gave her enough energy to get out of the car and enter the diner.  

The diner was all but deserted, which was nice. Jenny wasn’t sure about their policy on allowing people to order food to go, though, which was somewhat concerning, because she didn’t feel all that okay about leaving the kids alone too long after the events at the beach. Hopefully she could tip a waitress extra or something. Hurrying up to the counter while fumbling with her wallet (which was difficult, given that the cast on her right wrist was still pretty cumbersome) she asked, “Hey, do you guys serve food to go? Or coffee to go? Or—” She looked past the waitress and at the counter. “Ooh, pie to go? I could use that.”

The waitress didn’t say anything. Jenny assumed it was because she still hadn’t gotten out her wallet, which was being obstinate and was stuck in her purse in between a sand dollar and the empty soda she hadn’t been able to find a trash can for. Besides that, there was the rose quartz necklace, which she’d been carrying around in some kind of weird attempt to remind herself that Rupert didn’t have any part of her anymore, and which had snagged slightly on her wallet.

She pulled with her cast, and her wrist snapped back, hitting the counter _hard_ and sending a jolt of pain through her arm _._ “ _Fuck!_ ” she said loudly, and was suddenly _very_ grateful that there weren’t a lot of people in the diner. “Sorry—” she added apologetically, looking up to the waitress, and froze.

Buffy Summers was standing at the counter, eyes wide, just as unmoving as Jenny was.

* * *

See, the logical thing to do, the one that Buffy had thought she would do, would be to run away really fast, because Ms. Calendar seemed pretty distracted as it was and it was clear that she could have gotten away from any unwanted questions or accusations or demands that she come back to Sunnydale. But Ms. Calendar’s arm was in a cast, and the sunglasses pushing back her hair revealed a half-healed vampire bite on her neck, and she looked more exhausted and sad than Buffy remembered her being. It was hard to run away from that.

Buffy tried to think of something to say, but before she could, Ms. Calendar said, “You know what? I’m just going to go,” and turned, beginning to walk out of the diner.

Buffy felt a wave of panic. “Ms. Calendar—” she began, voice high and desperate.

Ms. Calendar turned. “I have to go tell Rupert you’re all right,” she said simply.

“You have to—” Buffy stared. “Ms. Calendar, don’t tell _anyone_ where I am,” she blurted out. “I’m not—I can’t come back. Not yet.”

Ms. Calendar smiled. It seemed harder and sadder than Buffy remembered. “I’m not going to make you,” she said. “I don’t intend on telling anyone where you are. I just need to tell the people who love you that you’re all right. They should know.”

Buffy wasn’t sure what to say. She hadn’t thought all that much about what everyone would think of her suddenly skipping town; there just hadn’t been _room_ for that with Angel gone and a hole in her stomach. It was worse, somehow, knowing that she had been so close to having him back, remembering clearly what it was like to hold him in her arms. He— _Angel_ —had trusted her completely. In all that pain and grief and anger, she’d forgotten that there might be people who could be worried about her. It was so much easier to just not think about it.

She didn’t want to think about it _now,_ but she got the sense that Ms. Calendar was going to tell Giles no matter what she did, so she asked, “Are you okay?”

“It’s been a pretty tumultuous summer,” said Ms. Calendar, which felt a little to Buffy like she was avoiding the question. “Willow and Xander are coping pretty well, I think.” She said it in a way that made Buffy fairly certain that Ms. Calendar knew she hadn’t been thinking about Willow and Xander, but wasn’t intending to make an issue out of it.

Buffy nodded. She didn’t feel quite ready to apologize for her departure yet, and was grateful that Ms. Calendar wasn’t forcing her to. “You can tell them too, if you want,” she said. “Just—I’m not really ready to see anyone yet.”

“I get that,” said Ms. Calendar.

Buffy hesitated. Awkwardly, looking at her hands, she asked, “How’s Giles?”

Ms. Calendar drew in a pained breath, which was enough to make Buffy look up, wide-eyed. She was so afraid, suddenly, so ready to go back, because if Giles was dead because she’d left, then she’d come back and she’d try so _hard_ to fix everything. If he’d gone looking for her, if he’d gotten himself killed, if her _stupid_ selfishness had let Giles die—

“I wouldn’t know,” said Ms. Calendar stiffly. “We haven’t been on the best of terms lately.”

Buffy felt a moment of pure relief that Giles wasn’t dead, followed by the sudden, awful comprehension when she read between the lines. “You guys broke up?” she said, half hoping she’d somehow misunderstood.

Ms. Calendar sighed. “It has nothing to do with you leaving, Buffy, it’s just—” She seemed to stop herself, then said simply, “I don’t think we’re right for each other.”

That sounded a lot more final than “Giles hanging out near Ms. Calendar’s classroom” or “long gazes in the hallways after Angelus lost his soul,” and it somehow made Buffy feel worse than she’d expected; in a weird way, Giles and Ms. Calendar loving each other had been the one constant all through the year. She wondered what else she’d missed when she’d left. What had changed. “I’m sorry,” she said. “But, um, if it helps at all, you made him really happy while it lasted.”

Ms. Calendar gave Buffy a smile that was very clearly forced. “Yeah,” she said. “I’ll see you around, okay?” She turned again, and left. Buffy let her this time.

She watched Ms. Calendar through the diner window. Ms. Calendar got into the car, and leaned into the backseat, saying something to the two passengers behind her. One of them leaned forward, making nervous hand motions as she talked; with a pang, Buffy realized it was Willow.

Ms. Calendar and Giles had broken up, and Ms. Calendar had a scar from a vampire bite, and for some reason everyone was up in LA today. Part of Buffy wanted to run up to the car and sandwich herself in between Willow and Xander in the backseat, let them hug her and tell her how much they’d missed her, bring some kind of joy into the Scoobies’ lives with a promise of her staying. But there was another, bigger part of her that was frightened of the idea of entering that car and finding out that there was no joy she could give by coming back.


	22. healing powers

Jenny wasn’t sure what she felt. First seeing Rupert, then Buffy—it was a lot to take in, and she had a feeling that what she emotionally needed was to drive home and maybe take a long nap. But she knew how much Rupert loved Buffy, and she was certain that he was worried sick about her (even if he wasn’t talking much about it with Jenny), and she _couldn’t_ go home and sleep when she knew that Rupert still didn’t know whether Buffy was alive or dead.

“This isn’t the freeway entrance,” said Willow nervously. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not exactly an LA expert, but this looks like we’re headed back to the beach,” Xander added, a similarly perturbed frown on his face.

“Just gotta make one last stop,” Jenny replied, pulling up next to the sidewalk. “Shouldn’t take too long. Sit tight, okay?”

“Ms. Calendar—” Willow objected, but Jenny was already shutting the door and racing down the steps to the beach, hoping she wasn’t too late.

Rupert was still there. He was standing near the ocean, looking out at the beginnings of the sunset, and Jenny wanted to laugh at how ridiculously cliché the moment felt. Her heart was pounding, which was so strange when she considered the fact that she wasn’t here to make up.

He turned to her, a surprised expression on his face, and it suddenly hit Jenny how much she’d _missed_ him. She hadn’t realized how much. She didn’t know how he’d take this news, but the thought of possibly seeing him smile for the first time in months was making her feel oddly fluttery.

She was still mad at him, of course. Definitely. This was just a courtesy.

“I have some news,” Jenny said finally.

“Oh?” Rupert replied lightly, and she thought she could hear the same hope in his voice that she felt.

“Buffy’s okay.”

The reaction to Jenny’s statement wasn’t quite as dramatic and wonderful as she’d hoped. Rupert stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, “How did you find this out?”

“Well,” Jenny cleared her throat, drawing her arms close to her chest, “I ran into her today, and she’s okay, but she says she’s not ready to come home yet, and I think you should respect that.”

Rupert just kept on staring at her. Finally, clearly restraining his frustration, he said, “Your opinions on my actions are keeping me from doing my job as a Watcher. Where did you see Buffy today, Ms. Calendar?”

Jenny felt like she’d been slapped. Of all people, she’d think that _Rupert_ would understand the need for solitude, seeing as that had been all he seemed to be doing this summer. “You’re looking for Buffy to force her to come home?” she said disbelievingly.

“She has abandoned her sacred duty,” said Rupert stiffly. “The Council recommends—”

“Frankly, it’s not the Council you should be listening to,” Jenny replied pointedly.

“Ms. Calendar, _what_ are you doing?” Willow called, eyes wide. She was standing at the top of the stairs to the beach, looking down at Jenny with a worried expression. “I don’t think yelling at Giles constitutes a good last stop before going back home, so could you—could you please come back into the car?” She was avoiding looking at Giles.

Jenny swallowed, feeling horribly responsible for the nervous look on Willow’s face. “Willow, just—give me a minute,” she replied, and turned to Rupert. “I love you,” she said quietly, meaning it, and the dispassionate expression on Rupert’s face changed to something softer and more recognizable. It tugged at her heart. She had to draw in a shaking breath before continuing. “I think you’re being an idiot, letting yourself be led by logic, but I understand how frightened you must be. You have to know that the Council isn’t an all-seeing power. Their judgment isn’t infallible. Buffy needs this time to herself. Sunnydale isn’t in any immediate danger, and it’s got people there to protect it.”

“People the Council wouldn’t deem suitable,” Rupert said, but his voice had lost its edge.

“Rupert, I think when you say _the Council_ you just mean yourself,” said Jenny with a soft, sad laugh. “Look, I—I have to drive the kids home. I just—I know how much you love her. You deserve to at least know she’s alive.”

Rupert opened his mouth as though to correct Jenny, closed it, pressed his lips together, and looked down. Jenny thought she saw tears in his eyes. On impulse (and it was a stupid one), she dug in her purse and found the rose quartz necklace. She took Rupert’s hand in hers, pressing the stone into his palm. “Healing powers,” she said. “You might need them.” She turned towards Willow and started towards the steps without looking back.

She had kids to take care of, and a town to help protect. That would be enough for her.

* * *

 

Giles stood there on the beach, rose quartz necklace in his hand, for a good ten minutes, completely stunned. He had tried so hard to remain professional and dispassionate, be the Watcher he’d always intended to be, but it wasn’t making him feel any better now.

 _Buffy was alive._ There were many things that remained unclear about Jenny’s feelings towards him, but he knew that she would never lie to him. He shouldn’t _care_ this much as a Watcher; according to the teachings of the Council, the Slayer was an instrument with which to fight the vampires. Deviating from the teachings of the Council had been what had gotten Jenny hurt.

Or—had it?

_Sunnydale isn’t in any immediate danger, and it’s got people there to protect it._

She was still fighting. Even without him there, she was still fighting. He was beginning to realize how incorrect he’d been in assuming that the only reason Jenny stayed in the fight against evil was because of him, and he wondered if perhaps it was the other way around. His drive to protect and serve came from a desire to make sure the people he cared about didn’t get hurt, but Jenny’s seemed to come from her trust in her own moral compass. Giles tried to imagine being as brave and confident as that—not having skeletons in the closet that made one doubt one’s instincts.

It was easier to continue following the clearly set Council rules, because he didn’t have faith in his ability to not be guided by his own emotions. Looking into Jenny’s eyes, all he wanted to do was stay with her and to hell with the consequences. But she did have a point about him not listening to her, then, because either side of the equation didn’t really involve talking to her.

Things between him and Jenny had shattered, irrevocably, and it was strange that he wasn’t as devastated or lonely as he had been after Eyghon and Angelus. He suspected it was because the finality of their breakup made it easier to avoid thinking about how much he missed her. Somewhere along the line, his feelings for her had been locked up with other painful memories and emotions that were better off buried. He missed the sweet intensity of kissing her. He missed her laugh.

Giles looked down at the rose quartz necklace. He was beginning to think he’d hurt more than helped, but he wasn’t sure how on earth he was supposed to fix any of it.


	23. model student

“I’m sorry about beach day,” said Ms. Calendar as she got into the front seat of the car. “In my head, there was less drama and more of you two enjoying yourself.”

“It was definitely memorable,” Xander tried. Ms. Calendar looked back, giving him a wry, affectionate smile that made him feel like he’d somehow managed to do something right. It was a little weird, but in a good way. “And hey, the first fifteen minutes were pretty good. I have some great pictures.”

“What were you talking about with Giles?” Willow asked, buckling herself into the driver’s seat. She seemed to have regained her energy enough to drive them home, which Xander was glad for; as much as he liked Ms. Calendar, he didn’t exactly want to put the drive home in her still-healing hands.

Ms. Calendar hesitated, then, “That’s something we need to talk about when we get home.”

Willow turned, looking at Ms. Calendar with a strange expression. “You never got your iced coffee,” she said.

“What?”

“At that diner place—you never got your iced coffee. And then you came out all weird, and drove straight to make sure you could see Giles before we headed home.” Willow seemed to be working out some equation that Xander hadn’t even considered. It was a little disconcerting, but judging by the nervous, guilty look on Ms. Calendar’s face, it was also accurate. “What happened at the diner?” Willow finished, looking up at Ms. Calendar. It wasn’t at all accusing, just inquisitive and worried.

Ms. Calendar drew in a breath. “Look,” she said. “I made an executive decision, and I hope that it’s not one either of you will resent me for.” She hesitated, looked down at her hands. Looked back up at Willow. “Buffy’s okay,” she said. “She specifically asked me not to tell anyone where she was, and I’m trying to respect that.”

This was not at all what Xander had been expecting. “Wait,” he said slowly. “You saw Buffy?”

“At the diner, yes,” said Ms. Calendar, her voice careful and detached, the same way it had been back when Buffy was mad at her. “She isn’t ready to come home.”

Xander felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. So Buffy was okay. Buffy was okay, and while they’d been worrying about her, she’d been hiding in some random LA diner because she didn’t feel like coming back to Sunnydale. Did she ever even care about them at all? Why did she keep _doing_ this? Waltzing off over the summer without a word to any of them. It was like they were only a part of her life when it was convenient to her.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Willow’s high, nervous voice. “Ms. Calendar—”

Xander looked up. Ms. Calendar was looking out the window, her eyes fixed on a distant figure on the beach. “I keep on wondering,” she said, more to herself than anyone else, “if he’d be doing better at this than me.”

“You’re the _best,_ ” said Xander fiercely. He wasn’t sure if he meant it out of a genuine appreciation for Ms. Calendar or out of spite for Buffy and Giles, but at Ms. Calendar’s startled, gratified look, he felt determined to stick by it. “They didn’t stay. We did. That’s what counts at the end of the day.”

Ms. Calendar nodded, but Xander got the sense that she hadn’t really heard him.

“I’m _not_ crying over Buffy,” said Willow from the driver’s seat in a somewhat choked-up voice. “Crying while driving is a hazard.”

Ms. Calendar looked over at Willow with a small, tired smile. “Very conscientious,” she said, closing her eyes. “You can take all the time you need.”

“It might get dark,” Xander commented a little nervously.

Willow sniffled. “Good point,” she said. “Ms. Calendar, are my eyes clear enough to drive?”

Ms. Calendar actually laughed. It was a startling sound, cutting through the somber mood of the car. “I think so!” she said, pressing her fingers to her mouth and visibly trying to tamp down her smile. “God, sorry, Willow, I really am taking you seriously, it’s just been such a— _weird_ day.”

Willow smiled too. It was wobbly and watery, but still _there,_ which made Xander feel a little better _._ “It has,” she agreed, and started up the car.

* * *

 

Xander fell asleep in the backseat. Jenny couldn’t carry _him,_ so she had to wake him up and get him to come into her house. She wasn’t having him go back to his parents’ house tonight—which, incidentally, she was going to seriously look into that next year; from what little she’d heard, that didn’t seem at all like a good place for a kid to live. Granted, Xander was closing in on eighteen, but she still thought it was important to get him out of there as soon as possible.

“Just—couch,” she said, waving her hand ambiguously in the direction of the living room. “Willow, you get the bed.” She was very glad that Willow was too tired to argue with her about the ethics of taking her bed. It was barely sunset, but the day had been exhausting on a lot of levels, so it would be nice for her to have some alone time while the kids napped.

Jenny made herself tea. She’d gotten good at it over the last few weeks. Rupert used to tease her about how she always let the leaves steep too long, but she’d all but perfected her timing now. It was strange, thinking about the fact that now there was an aspect of her Rupert didn’t know, and that it was almost definitely going to stay that way.

She’d left the necklace with him because some selfish part of her wanted to make sure he didn’t forget her. If he didn’t go through some miraculous change of heart, that moment on the beach was the last one she intended to have with him, and she’d wanted to make sure he had some part of her to keep.

So, yeah. She was still in love with him. But that didn’t change the fact that she had more important things to do than get hung up over some guy who had been gone for over a month anyway. She was moving on, which was sad, but it was also freeing.

The teakettle went off, and Jenny hurried to turn down the water. As she poured out the tea, she heard footsteps, and then Willow’s sleepy voice saying, “Is there enough for me?”

Without turning around, Jenny smiled. “More than,” she said. “Always planning for unexpected guests. You warm enough?”

“I borrowed one of your sweaters.” Willow sounded a little guilty.

“Cool,” Jenny replied easily, turning around to look. “Looks better on you than me, to be honest. You can keep it if you want.”

“Ooh, really?” Willow grinned at her. “Thanks!” She sat down at the kitchen table, adjusting the sleeves of the plum-colored sweater. It was just a touch big on her, but it really did compliment her hair quite nicely. “How are you?”

“Doing better.” Jenny handed Willow one of the mugs of tea before sitting down next to her. “You get enough sleep?”

“Mmm.” Willow shrugged noncommittally. “I was—thinking.”

“About?”

“I-if Giles isn’t coming back, and Buffy isn’t ready to and might never _be_ ready to—”

“Hold on, that’s not a given,” Jenny said immediately, more for Willow’s sake than her own. “Buffy could still come back.”

Willow smiled a little sadly. “But she might not,” she said. “And if she’s not, we need to start really preparing for this year.” She put down her mug. There was the beginning of an excited light in her eyes that warmed Jenny more than the tea possibly could. “Like, _really_ preparing. Not just fighting, because we can’t all be Buffys. We need to consider all of our strengths and use them to our advantages.”

“Okay,” said Jenny carefully. “Still not sure what you’re trying to say here.”

Willow hesitated. “I—didn’t mean to snoop,” she said, “but you’ve got lots of books in your bedroom. Magic books. And—”

“Whoa, hold on.” Jenny held up a hand, feeling a sudden spike of worry. “I know you’re a smart girl, Willow, but magic isn’t something _anyone_ can jump headfirst into without instruction.”

“I know.” Willow was still smiling, but there was a touch of shyness to it. “I was hoping—” She twisted at a loose thread on the blanket. “Maybe you could teach me?”

Jenny blinked. “Willow, I—” She looked down at her mug, somewhat embarrassed. “I’d love to say that I’m a qualified teacher, or a good spellcaster, but it takes a natural affinity for magic to be able to use it efficiently. I’m not skilled enough to do that.”

“You’re _Jenny Calendar,_ ” said Willow with a fierce pride. “You stood up to a vampire _twice,_ and you translated a soul spell when you said it couldn’t be done.”

“You know, I broke up with Rupert for idealizing me,” Jenny said, trying to make it sound joking. It fell somewhat flat.

Willow shook her head. “That’s not my point,” she said. “Anyone as brave and smart as you is completely qualified to teach someone magic. And if I don’t have a natural affinity for magic, or—or whatever else it takes, then no harm, no foul, right?” She had a hopeful, nervous look on her face.

Jenny didn’t answer, considering this. Willow did have a point. It wouldn’t really hurt to try and teach her what she knew. It could actually be pretty helpful to give Willow a general sense of the magical world, especially if they were fighting demons who might use magic against them.

“I mean, obviously you’ve been through a lot lately, and I wouldn’t want to pressure—”

“Willow.” Jenny gave her a patient smile. “I’d be happy to try and teach you what I know. I just don’t want to get your hopes up when it comes to you blowing things up or setting vampires on fire with your mind or whatever. It could take _years_ to hone whatever natural talent you have, and by that time you may have already decided to leave Sunnydale behind, you know?”

Willow nodded thoughtfully. Then she said, “I don’t think I _could_ leave Sunnydale if there’s no one here to protect it.”

“There’s me,” Jenny reminded her. “And Xander, and Oz, and Cordelia once she gets back from—where did she go?” Willow rolled her eyes and made a face. “Helpful,” Jenny quipped, and took a sip of tea. “I can tell you’ll be a model student.”

“So that’s a yes?” Willow inquired eagerly.

“It’s an _I’ll try_ ,” Jenny replied gently. “I can’t promise more.”

Willow beamed at Jenny over her mug of tea. Jenny lightly bumped Willow’s shoulder with hers.


	24. magical litmus test

Rupert, bless him, categorized his books quite thoroughly, and it was easy for Jenny to find the library section on magic and the occult. Most of the books were just general magic theory and explanations of the kinds of spells that could be cast, but Jenny did find a few instructional books that might be of some use.

“Any luck?” Xander called, looking away from Willow, who was throwing punches. “ _Ow!_ Jeez, Will, I wasn’t _looking._ ”

“Did it hurt?” Willow sounded excited. “I mean, sorry, but also that means I’m improving!”

“Yeah, my cheek’s really glad your fist is getting better at punching it,” Xander said dryly.

“Play nice,” Jenny reprimanded them with amusement. “I think we’re going to move on to stakes in a few days. You two seem to be getting the hang of the whole punching thing, as far as I can tell.”

“I can vouch for that,” Xander agreed, rubbing his cheek. “What’d you find?”

“Books,” Jenny quipped, and handed Willow one of the heavier volumes. “This one looks promising. We can check it out after we do the, uh, magical litmus test.”

“Isn’t that chemistry?” said Xander bemusedly. Willow giggled. “Am I missing something?” he asked her.

“She’s testing whether or not I’m basic!” said Willow, and giggled again. “Checking out if magic and I have chemistry!”

“You are enjoying this _way_ too much for it to be a lesson,” Jenny informed Willow with an easy smile. 

“You started it,” Willow volleyed back.

Jenny rolled her eyes. “Hop up on the table,” she said. “Xander, can you wait in the office?”

“Am I not allowed to be here?” Xander inquired, sounding like he was trying his best to sound joking.

“I just want to make sure Willow has a clear headspace for this,” Jenny explained. “That means as few people in here as possible. It’s not a lot, but—it could help if you’re outside. I’d go too if I didn’t have to orchestrate the—”

“Magical litmus test,” said Willow, and went into a giggle fit in the middle of clambering onto the table.

“Hey, magic’s a serious business,” Jenny informed her, but she felt the corners of her mouth twitch and knew Willow saw it. “Have you ever heard of a giggly witch?” This sobered Willow up, which made Jenny smile encouragingly. “You’ll be fine,” she said. “Just stay focused.”

“Focused,” Willow agreed nervously.

Xander very carefully exited the library. Jenny made a mental note to thank him later. “Magic is all about control and tranquility,” she said. “It’s another reason why I’m not that good at it. I tend to focus too much on my motivations and not enough on the present action of doing the spell.”

“But isn’t magic about doing spells?” Willow asked with a frown.

Jenny shook her head. “That’s one of the most common and dangerous misconceptions about magic,” she replied, sitting down next to Willow on the library table. “It isn’t a means to an end—it’s about being present and focusing in on the energy around you. You can’t use it like a tool, or you’ll start thinking of it as a skill, and then you start thinking that your goal is to master it.”

Willow was still frowning. “I thought it was something that could help us,” she said slowly.

“It is, if you learn how to control it,” Jenny replied, “and I have complete faith in your ability to do that.” She smiled encouragingly, and felt gratified when Willow returned it. “If it’s not a skill, though, Willow, are you still interested in it?”

Willow nodded, eyes bright. “Teach me,” she said.

Jenny held out her hands. Willow took them. “Think about something good,” she instructed. “Something that makes you happy.” She waited, and watched as Willow’s face relaxed slightly. “Now try and give that thought to me.”

“Is that—a thing I can do?” Willow asked hesitantly. “That seems pretty advanced.”

“Doubt won’t serve you well if you’re trying to control the energy around you,” Jenny replied. The truth of the matter was that Willow most likely couldn’t transfer thoughts to Jenny, but if she was centered enough, Jenny might get some kind of read on the level of power that Willow had. Magic was a lot like meditation, if you did it right; treating it like a weapon was a road Jenny didn’t want Willow to go down.

“But—”

“Trust me.” Jenny squeezed Willow’s hands reassuringly.

A small, sweet smile drifted over Willow’s face, and she didn’t object any further. Jenny closed her own eyes, focusing. Waiting.

Then, unexpectedly, she felt a soft warmth that began at her fingertips and traveled through her arms, directly to her chest. She tasted something sugary in her mouth, and thought she could feel the faintest hint of rain, even though it was warm in the library. Jenny was comforted, and almost forgot where she was, but then it _clicked_ and she opened her eyes, jerking her hands away from Willow’s more out of surprise than anything.

“Did I do it wrong?” Willow asked anxiously, smile fading.

“No, um,” Jenny laughed nervously, “not, not exactly. Willow, what were you trying to send me?”

Willow turned pink. “Well—last September, Buffy and I went on a rain walk that day it got all drizzly but it was still sunny, you know? It was a sun shower. And Buffy got us strawberry milk, which she thought was a little weird, but I thought it was nice. We got all giggly over this cute boy in her gym class and it was—fun. Normal. No vampire talk, no tense Buffy, just us.”

Jenny remembered that particular day. She’d forgotten her umbrella, and she’d avoided leaving school until she’d had to, only to find Rupert waiting on the front steps with a shy smile and an umbrella big enough for two. They’d held hands all the way down the stairs, and she’d kissed him on the cheek before getting into her car.

But that wasn’t the point. She drew in a breath and tried not to think about the way Rupert had blushed as she’d straightened his scarf. “You might have more potential than I was expecting,” she said. “You shouldn’t have been able to transfer _anything_ to me, but—”

“Did you get it?” Willow’s eyes were wide and awed.

“Yes and no.” Jenny smiled ruefully. She suddenly missed that tranquil warmth, and wished she’d appreciated it more while she’d had it. “I got the way you felt that day.”

“And that’s—”

“Pretty unusual for a novice. You should be proud.” Jenny straightened up, running a hand through her hair. Rupert’s fingers always caught in the tangles, and he’d tease her about not combing, and _shit_ this was _not_ the time for her to get weird and nostalgic. She drew in a breath. “I think I’m going to have to re-evaluate my lesson plan.”

“Really?” Willow sounded delighted. “Am I good?”

“I really don’t want you to focus on how good you are at this,” Jenny said carefully. “Magic can be hugely corrupting, especially if you’re exposed to it too young.” At Willow’s slightly crestfallen expression, she amended, “But yes. You are good.”

Willow beamed. Then, carefully schooling her face into a neutral expression, “Of course, that’s not the _point,_ though.”

“You got it.” Jenny smiled at her. “Look, do you mind if I take a minute? I think I left some things in my classroom. Just—stay here with the candles and try and think happy thoughts. Practice sending them places. You can infuse a whole room with good feelings if you do it right.”

Willow closed her eyes obligingly, still smiling softly as Jenny left the room.

Jenny headed into her classroom, unlocked her desk drawer, and took out the photo strip from the monster truck rally. Rupert in his blue suit, supremely uncomfortable in the first photo, smiling softly at her in the second as she made funny faces at the camera. She’d had to catch her breath when she saw the pictures for the first time, because she’d never had anyone look at her like that.

It was intoxicating to be beloved, to the extent that maybe she’d overlooked some problems with Rupert’s overly simplistic view of her. But that didn’t change the fact that she missed him—not just as a lover, but as a friend. He’d made her smile so easily, and that wasn’t something that had happened before she’d known him. Jenny let her thumb trace Rupert in the last picture—his bright, genuine smile as she playfully pressed her lips to his cheek—and then she let the picture fall back into the drawer. This was the last time she’d let herself miss him.

* * *

Giles picked up the rose quartz necklace, let the light catch it. It didn’t feel like anything, for all the dramatic gestures it had been involved in. It couldn’t mean anything to him, even knowing that Jenny had wanted him to have it.

Healing powers, she’d said, as though that would fix all the things left broken by Angelus. For all his idealization, it always felt like Jenny was the optimist. He put the necklace back in his pocket; he still couldn’t wear it close to his chest. It felt strange and clingy enough to carry around a piece of jewelry technically given by an ex as a goodbye gift.

He was still in Los Angeles. He wasn’t sure where else to go. He was searching for Buffy, still, but only halfheartedly; Jenny’s words had stuck with him. He hadn’t considered what would happen when he found her, only that he wanted to find her, and now that he knew she was alive, the search seemed to have lost its urgency. Out of obstinacy, he’d stuck by the idea to bring Buffy home by any means necessary for a day or two, but the desire to prove Jenny wrong had faded with his resentment and anger.

She was right. Buffy had been through so much, and really did need some time to process it in any way that she could. Giles bringing her back would do nothing for anyone—the Council would be stuck with an indifferent, rebellious Slayer, and he would be stuck with a girl who no longer trusted him. He couldn’t think too much about the fact that he no longer thought of Buffy as a Slayer. There were too many other things he had to work on before addressing that.

Giles looked around the small, sparsely furnished hotel room. He wondered if, given the chance, he’d change the way this summer went, and wished he could say with certainty that he could. Some resentful, childish part of him still desperately wanted to be _right_ about all this.

 _Is it better to be right,_ he thought, _or to feel a part of a family?_ He’d seen Jenny on the beach, long before she’d noticed him. He’d had to stop walking and stare for a moment at the wind blowing her hair, the unrestrained joy on her face as she laughed with Willow. Whether or not she was right about his idealization of her, she had stayed with the children, and she was clearly happier for it—as were they.

Jenny was brave in a way he couldn’t possibly imagine. Perhaps it was time to deviate from the rules and take a leaf out of her book, because his own didn’t seem to be doing all that well for him.

Giles hesitated, and headed over to the bureau. If he did pack, now, and go home—to _Sunnydale,_ he corrected himself, because it still wasn’t clear whether he had a home to go back to anymore—he of course wouldn’t expect some sort of magical, beautiful reconciliation with Jenny. It would be messy, and he’d have to face a lot of justified anger. He’d have to prove to Willow and Xander that he cared about them, and prove to Jenny that he believed in her.

And if he could do that—

Giles thought of Jenny and drew in a sharp, shaking breath. He wondered how on earth she’d managed to restore Angelus’s soul when she’d been just as isolated and lonely as he was right now. He _missed_ her, and being a part of her life in any capacity would be enough for him.


	25. strategizing

“ _Oz!_ ” Willow jumped up from the table, running across the library to fling her arms around her boyfriend. Jenny watched with amusement. “How are you? How was the family vacation thing? Was your aunt super weird? What was Jordy like during the full moon? Did you—”

Oz kissed the top of Willow’s head and said something that Jenny couldn’t catch. He was smiling, slow and easy. Jenny had always liked Oz; he had a comforting, calming vibe that she thought provided a nice complement to Willow’s anxious energy. Looking over Willow’s shoulder, he added to Jenny, “I get the sense that I missed a lot.”

“We’re working some witchy mojo!” Willow added excitedly. “Ms. Calendar’s teaching me how to—”

“Tranquility,” said Jenny patiently, “is the most important part of a magical environment.”

Willow stopped, blushing, and pulled away from Oz. “Sorry,” she said, only half sounding like she meant it. “I just—”

“It’s okay,” Jenny replied, and smiled. “Good to see you, Oz.”

“Good to be seen,” Oz said, squeezing Willow’s hand before he let go. “Xander around?”

Xander, who was now allowed to sit in on the magic lessons, raised a hand. “Drawing up a list,” he said with an amicable smile in Oz’s direction.

“Of what?”

“Ms. Calendar wants us to get inventive with our patrolling ideas,” Willow explained. “She says that since we’re not Slayers, we can’t approach patrol with brute strength and punching and stuff, even though it is important to know how to defend ourselves.”

“Consider all of our strengths and use them to our advantages,” said Jenny, and smiled proudly at Willow, who beamed.

“I always was the brains of the operation,” said Xander with a grin.

“Sure,” said Jenny. Willow giggled. “Listen, Oz—if you want to help Xander, that would be really, really great. I think he needs it.”

“I do _not,_ ” Xander objected. “I have three or four very good ideas.”

Jenny raised an eyebrow. “Can I hear some?”

Xander blanched, mumbled something about “don’t know why everyone’s _bothering_ me while I’m _working,_ ” and went back to his notebook. Oz gave Willow a last smile before heading over to sit down next to him.

Jenny turned back to Willow, who hopped up on top of the table again. “So,” she said. “We’ve talked about how you need to feel the magical energy around you, and I want to make sure you understand how important it is not to cut corners here. If you—”

“Catapult of flame!” said Xander excitedly, and scribbled something down in the notebook.

“You know what? I think this should be a group discussion,” said Jenny to Willow. “If you don’t mind cutting the lesson short for today—”

“No, I think it’s important to make sure Xander doesn’t burn down a cemetery,” Willow agreed, sliding off the table to sit next to Oz. Jenny followed suit, pulling up a chair at the head of the table. “Xander, what do you have so far?”

“Uh,” said Xander. “Look. They’re very rough ideas.”

Willow peered over Xander’s shoulder. “Stake machine?” she said bemusedly.

“You said _think inventive,_ ” Xander replied defensively. “I’m going for inventions.”

“Oh boy.” Jenny took the notebook from Xander. “Xander, as much as I appreciate your, uh,” she glanced down at the list to see _holy water rain of DEATH_ written at the top of the page, “creativity, we’re going to have to start thinking realistically about our strengths as individuals and not just what would work in battle.”

“Oz is a werewolf!” Xander pointed out. “Maybe he could bite the vamps?”

“Then we’d have vampire werewolves on our hands, and I feel like that might actually be worse,” Oz pointed out.

“You know what,” Jenny said, ripping three pieces of paper out of the notebook and handing them off to the kids, “everyone write down your three best strengths and your three biggest weaknesses, and then we can talk over what kind of plans will be best for those kinds of people.”

“This feels like school,” Xander objected.

“We are in a library,” Willow pointed out.

“Yeah, but this isn’t world-saving, this is just exploring our inner self or whatever.”

“This is _strategizing,_ ” said Jenny shortly. “And if you want, I can write yours for you.”

Xander looked up at Jenny and opened his mouth indignantly. Jenny fixed him with a firm stare and he shut it, looking back down at his paper and beginning to write. She wondered if the kids were starting to forget that she was their teacher as well as their friend.

“Ms. Calendar,” said Willow, elbowing her gently, “you should write one too, I think.”

Jenny was about to say something about her not needing to, but then she saw Xander watching out of the corner of her eye and decided that now was hardly the time to be hypocritical. “You’re right,” she agreed, and opened up the notebook to a blank page.

She wrote down WEAKNESSES in large capital letters, and scribbled down _Impulsive_ and _Stubborn._ Then she paused, hesitant, before adding _Not Always Honest,_ because it was technically pretty true. She liked to think she was getting better at it.

STRENGTHS was as far as Jenny got for the other column, at which point she sat and stared at the piece of paper for a good two minutes before Willow nudged her again and whispered, “Loving.”

“What?”

“You seem stuck.” Willow smiled shyly at her. “I think you should put down that you’re loving. And brave. And kind.”

“Not exactly tactical advantages,” said Jenny lightly, not feeling like pressing the issue.

“I could disagree,” Willow replied. “You were brave for Giles because you loved him, and you translated that ritual because you’re kind. That’s useful in battle, I think.”

Jenny glanced over at Willow’s STRENGTHS column, which was just as blank as hers. “Perceptive,” she said, with a slight nod to Willow’s paper. Willow blinked, then smiled, shy and bright. “Kind. And smart as a whip.”

Willow ducked her head a little. “I don’t know how that applies to battle,” she said.

“Shh,” said Jenny, and smiled at Willow before looking back down at her STRENGTHS column. _Determined,_ she wrote, and was about to come up with something else when the library doors opened. Exasperated by the interruption, she decided not to look up at the approaching footsteps and instead wait for Snyder’s irritating drone to fill the room. All she could hear was stillness, though, which was unusual if Snyder was here, but if it was someone else—

Slowly, Jenny looked up into Rupert’s eyes.

* * *

 

The silence carried on for a few seconds, and then Ms. Calendar said very loudly, “For _god’s sake, Rupert,_ ” got up, knocked over a chair, and stormed out of the library. Willow blinked, then hurried after her.

“Ms. Calendar—” she began tentatively, speeding up her pace to catch up with her teacher.

“Why can’t he just stay out of our lives?” Ms. Calendar demanded, swiveling in the hallway. She sounded angry, but her eyes just looked tired and sad. “He’s come in and he’s going to take charge of all the hard work I’ve been doing. I’ve been _preparing,_ Willow. Researching and preparing, and now he’s going to scrap everything I’ve done and tell me he’s the Watcher and he’s in charge again. Because he feels like it. Or he wants to _redeem himself_ for me.”

“You don’t know that,” said Willow carefully.

“I saw the way he was looking at me,” said Ms. Calendar. Her voice was razor-sharp. “He wants to bury the hatchet and come home.”

“Maybe that could be good?” Willow suggested. Because yeah, she _had_ been mad at Giles on the beach, but it might be nice to have him back if he knew he had been wrong to go. Not that she’d tell Ms. Calendar that just yet, but— “If he wants to make things right with you, maybe things will be different this time.”

Ms. Calendar shook her head. “I don’t—” She looked down. “He can’t just show up and slap a Band-Aid on our problems and expect things to go back to normal.”

“You don’t know that that’s what he’s going to do,” Willow reminded Ms. Calendar. She smiled gently. “Put a little trust in me?”

Ms. Calendar looked up, and the anger and upset in her face dissolved into a small, reluctant smile. “You’re a good kid,” she said. “Fine. I’ll go talk to him, and I’ll make it very clear who’s in charge if he stays, and maybe he’ll listen this time around.”

“Maybe he’s ready to,” Willow agreed, and stepped forward, slipping her hand into Ms. Calendar’s. “You ready?”

Ms. Calendar made a face.

“Me either,” said Willow brightly, squeezing Ms. Calendar’s hand and pulling her forward. Ms. Calendar followed somewhat reluctantly.

Willow didn’t feel shaken or off-balance by the fact that she was the one leading her teacher; she guessed that all the weirdness of this summer had made Ms. Calendar seem more easily approachable. Not that Ms. Calendar had been an ice queen earlier, but Willow didn’t exactly hold hands with any of her other teachers. Her other teachers didn’t make her tea and tuck her in, either. Saying Ms. Calendar was her computer teacher didn’t really cover it anymore.

They entered the library. Giles was still standing there, looking somewhat awkward and out of place. Xander was very pointedly ignoring him, and Oz seemed to be following suit, though not as aggressively.

Willow nudged Ms. Calendar, hoping to spur her into action.

“Shh,” said Ms. Calendar, giving her a reproachful look without much fire behind it. She let go of Willow’s hand. “Rupert—do you want to talk?”

Xander looked up, eyes wide and bemused. It was almost comical.

“Yes, thank you,” Giles agreed with a hesitant smile, inclining his head to Willow in greeting. Willow set her jaw and gave him a pointed stare, trying to convey _don’t screw up_ in one look. If he upset Ms. Calendar again, she wasn’t sure if she could handle it. Yeah, she loved Giles, but Ms. Calendar had been the one who stayed when they needed someone, and that counted pretty big in Willow’s book.

Giles’s smile faded slightly and he looked down at his shoes.

“Um, your office should be good,” Ms. Calendar said quietly, and stepped away from the group, heading towards Giles’s office. Giles followed her. Willow watched as they entered the small room, and only looked away after Giles had closed the door behind him.

* * *

 

Jenny had a lot of things she wanted to say, but Willow’s words stuck with her. She should probably listen first, and then she would be honest and straightforward with Rupert. Or as honest and straightforward as she could afford to be. _Same difference,_ she thought, even though she knew it really wasn’t.

The office was small, and they were standing quite close to each other. It was strange to look at Rupert and not feel that same fuzzy rush of affection that made her want to smile. She wasn’t sure whether or not it made her feel any better.

Rupert cleared his throat. Then he said awkwardly, “I came to apologize.”

Jenny nodded slowly. “Okay,” she said.

“I—” Rupert put down his suitcase before looking back up at her. “You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t talk to you about a lot of decisions I made regarding our relationship, and I should have discussed things with you. I just—I thought that you would want me to stay, and I thought that it would be better to handle things between us from an unbiased perspective.” He said the last part somewhat reluctantly, as though he was only now realizing how ridiculous it sounded.

“You do realize that the whole point of a relationship is an emotional connection, right?” Jenny said carefully, surprised at herself for not feeling angry anymore. She needed to remember to thank Willow for calming her down a little beforehand. “There’s no way you can handle any big decisions without bias.”

“That’s why—” Rupert chuckled ruefully. “That’s why I came back. To—tell you that you’re right, and I need to start listening to you more often.”

“Assuming that I’m going to let you be a part of our lives again,” Jenny pointed out. She was expecting Rupert to be surprised at this, but he simply nodded in agreement, which made her feel— _something._ It wasn’t a bad feeling, and she tried to pinpoint it, but decided that it was more important to continue with their discussion. “You can’t just come back in and take charge of the work we’re doing. We’re coming up with strategies of our own that don’t involve you, and I’m not going to scrap that work just because you’ve decided you’re good to go again.”

Rupert looked at her, and then he said, “Will you consider letting me help? I won’t take your authority away, but I do still want to be a part of this.”

“You left,” said Jenny shortly.

Rupert nodded. “I did,” he said quietly. “And I’m sorry for that.”

Jenny considered this. Rupert had left without much warning, and he hadn’t given anyone notice on when or whether he was coming back. And now he was _here,_ and he seemed to want to make amends, but he was yet again throwing her plans and everyone’s emotions into upheaval. “You were careless,” she said. “You have to promise me you won’t do that again.”

“I—”

“And it has to hold _weight,_ Rupert.” Jenny looked him in the eye. “This isn’t one of those promises to make me smile. This is something you need to do to keep the Scoobies functioning. Promise me.”

Rupert looked at her, and then he smiled, soft and proud. “I missed you,” he said quietly.

“Okay,” said Jenny, trying her best to pretend that the warm fuzzy feeling hadn't suddenly returned with a vengeance at the way he was smiling at her. “You can keep missing me until I see some concrete proof that you’re sticking around for the long haul. _Promise_ me.”   

Rupert’s smile faded. Jenny told herself firmly that she _didn’t_ miss it. “You’re right,” he agreed again. “I promise, Jenny.”

Jenny let herself smile. “Okay,” she said again, softer this time, and stuck out her hand. Rupert blinked, and she teased him lightly, “What, did they not have handshakes where you were?”

“I was in Los Angeles, and handshakes were few and far between,” Rupert replied dryly, and took her hand, shaking it. They both held on for a second longer than they needed to. Neither of them said anything about it.


	26. understanding

“So!” Jenny reentered the library, looking around at the kids. “As you just saw, Giles is back, and we agreed that he’s going to be helping us in a strictly research capacity for now. Any questions?” Willow raised her hand. “What’s up, Willow?”

“Um, just that I was wondering if Giles is going to come on tonight’s patrol?” Willow asked nervously. “If he’s back, we could use help carrying supplies.”

“Yeah, I mean, not that I’m all welcome-back-Giles, but Willow does have a point,” said Xander, who was glaring at a point behind Jenny. She turned, and saw Rupert quietly exiting the office, shutting the door behind him. “We need someone to carry stuff.”

“ _Xander_ ,” said Jenny.

“Well, I’m sorry if I’m not giving Runaway Guy a warm welcome,” said Xander loudly. “It’s not like you didn’t have the same reaction at first.”

Jenny felt the beginnings of a headache at this. It was _really_ difficult to be faced with the fact that she was suddenly a role model for these kids. “It was a bad reaction to have,” she said finally. “Rupert is definitely trying to make amends, and we need to all be able to respect that, okay?”

Xander still looked mutinous, but he nodded sharply before going back to his paper.

“Garlic!” said Willow excitedly. As all eyes turned to her, she blushed a little and elaborated, “We should start thinking about how to attack vampires from a distance, you know? Since we’re not going to be using hand-to-hand combat and direct staking. And they can’t come close to us if we’re wearing garlic necklaces or something.”

“Ooh, I can pick up some garlic bread from the deli,” Jenny added cheerfully. “I love that stuff.” She crossed the room to sit down at the table and begin to write down a shopping list. “So we’re gonna need garlic, some of that twine from the art supply cabinet, um…can any of you sew?” Willow raised her hand with an excited smile. “Thanks, Willow,” Jenny said proudly. “You can make some garlic amulets.”

She dared to glance over at Rupert, expecting him to have a pensive expression at her half-formed plan. But her breath caught in her throat a little, because Rupert saw her looking and gave her a shy, admiring smile. And, yeah, he also looked vaguely worried, but it was his usual brand of vaguely worried, not a judgmental apprehension. Mostly he just looked hopeful.

Of course, there was always the possibility that he was trying to get back into her good graces by being supportive and helpful, but Jenny was okay with that, because it wasn’t going to be enough for her. Until she saw some kind of actual proof that he was making efforts to change the way he thought about her, not just sweet smiles and unhesitating support, she was going to hold off on trying to completely reconcile with him. She felt proud of herself for that.

“Flaming arrows!” Xander suggested. “Great ranged weapons.”

“We haven’t really worked a lot with the crossbow,” Jenny reminded him. “It’s a little risky to assume that you can aim well with it. Besides which,” she raised her right arm, which was still in its cast, “won’t really work for me.”

“Duly noted,” Xander agreed. “But we still need to start thinking of more ways to take down a vamp.”

“Beheading,” Willow suggested.

“Takes a lot of arm strength,” Oz pointed out. “Not to rain on your parade, Will, but I don’t know if any of us can slice and dice just yet.”

Jenny hesitated, thinking, then, “You know, I might have an idea, but it would rely a lot on Willow’s magic.”

“Magic?” Rupert repeated.

Jenny turned. Simply, she said, “I’ve been doing my best to guide her.”

“Jenny—”

“What?” said Jenny challengingly.

She waited for _do you know how serious magics are,_ or _are you aware of how corrupting power can be,_ but Rupert shut his mouth, opened it again, and said simply, “I trust you know the risks involved in using magic?” without a single hint of accusation or disapproval.

Jenny wanted to kiss him. It was a momentary urge, and she shoved it down _hard,_ because basic respect from her ex should definitely not garner such an explosively thankful reaction. This was a start, not an improvement. “I do,” she said, inclining her head in his direction.

Rupert nodded awkwardly. “Well,” he said, and picked up a book next to him, thumbing through it aimlessly.

“You can sit down, you know,” Jenny suggested. “There’s still a few empty chairs here.”

“Right.” Rupert walked cautiously over to the table, choosing a seat next to Willow and giving her a nervous, hopeful smile. Willow smiled back. Jenny felt a weird little pang of something she thought might be jealousy and nearly snapped her pencil in half, because _jeez,_ could she be any more childish?

“Magic?” Willow prompted Jenny, leaning into her slightly.

Jenny saw Rupert look surprised at Willow’s obvious affection for her and tried to suppress some equally childish gloating. “Yeah,” she agreed, turning to Willow. “I’m going to teach you a fire spell, and you’re going to ignite them with that.”

“Will that be enough, though?” Xander asked with a frown.

“Probably not, which is why Oz douses them with something flammable from a water gun,” Jenny explained. “It’s a bit of a touch-and-go plan, but it’s all I can think of at the moment—”

“Hold on.” Willow had a strange, contemplative look in her eyes. “Why not just use holy water? If we have big enough water guns, we can just use those, and those’ll work _great_ for ranged weapons.”

“ _Willow!_ ” said Jenny, astonished, and hugged Willow hard, pulling away to scribble _holy water guns_ down on the paper. “That is a _brilliant_ idea.”

Willow had turned bright red, but was grinning fiercely.

“So we set up some holy water guns,” said Oz.

“Can I still shoot my socks, though?” Xander asked hopefully. “I really liked that idea.”

“Come again?” said Rupert with a frown.

“Any kind of rolled-up fabric,” Jenny explained, “dipped in lighter fluid, launched by Xander, and I can probably borrow that potato gun the physics class made a few months back.”

“The physics class made a potato gun?” said Xander disbelievingly. “And Snyder wastes his time ragging on people for PDA and running in the hallways?”

“It’s my AP physics class,” Willow explained. “They’re mostly trustworthy, though I get the sense that Matthew Haverford shouldn’t really be anywhere _near_ a potato gun—”

Jenny cleared her throat loudly. “ _Anyway,_ ” she said, “potato guns only have one shot, so Xander, you really have to make this one count, okay? If it doesn’t work, we just go for the holy water.”

“I was a soldier, remember?” Xander replied with confidence. “I can pull off shooting a potato gun at a moving target.”

“You do realize that that knowledge is going to slowly fade without practice, though,” Jenny reminded him.

“Which is why it makes my practice on vamps incredibly important,” Xander pointed out. “Gotta make sure I can still shoot things.”

“Fair enough.” Jenny smiled at Willow, Xander and Oz, feeling a sudden rush of exhilaration and pride. She was in charge, and they had a plan that was inventive and actually reasonable. “You all did really well,” she said. “If this was a graded course—”

“Yeah, yeah, just apply the fact that I’m saving the world to a few of my computer class assignments and then we’ll talk,” said Xander. Willow giggled.

Jenny rolled her eyes, but her smile wasn’t going away. “Go get some water guns,” she said.

* * *

 

Xander had set himself up on the roof of the mausoleum with the potato gun and a bucket of water balloons, Willow and Oz were setting up their new and enormous squirt guns with a large amount of holy water, and Jenny, who couldn’t really contribute to much of the vampire fighting with a broken wrist, was settled comfortably under a tree with a large basket of garlic bread, a silver cross on her lap.

“You sure you’ll be okay over there?” Xander called down to Jenny from the roof.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Jenny replied easily. “Snacking.” She took a bite of garlic bread, which was buttery and warm, and smiled up at Xander. “Just don’t shoot me,” she instructed him playfully, and he grinned and nodded.

“Um,” said Rupert awkwardly.

Jenny looked up in surprise and realized then that no one had given Rupert anything to do. “Oh,” she said awkwardly, and scooted over on the blanket. “Uh, you can sit here if you want.”

“Thank you.” Rupert sat down next to her, placing his stake to the side. “Do you—”

Jenny handed him a piece of garlic bread and looked straight ahead. Willow and Oz were comparing water gun sizes.

“It’s a good plan,” said Rupert.

“I know,” said Jenny shortly. “They’re good kids.”

Rupert was quiet for a moment, then, “I didn’t mean to hurt them by leaving.”

“You hurt a lot of people when you left,” said Jenny, still not looking at him.

Rupert didn’t say anything. Jenny was grateful for that, because she didn’t think she could handle hearing him apologize again. It was starting to make her angry, and she wasn’t sure what to do with that anger anymore. There didn’t seem to ever be time for it.

Unexpectedly, and without warning, a hand shot up from a nearby grave. Jenny felt herself tense involuntarily, eyes immediately going to Oz and Willow, who were motioning to Xander. He was aiming the potato gun in on the target, Willow and Oz preparing themselves to rush in with water guns if Xander’s shot didn’t work. The kids looked fine—not at all nervous—but Jenny was suddenly _incredibly_ afraid.

The vampire pulled itself up a little more, still not all the way finished clawing out of its grave. Its skin had the same pallid, eerie color as Angelus, and it made Jenny feel a little nauseous.

“Jenny,” said Rupert softly. She looked over and realized that she was clutching his arm. Hastily, she jerked her hand away, focusing in on Xander, very upset with herself for displaying the fact that she was scared. Because that was the whole reason Rupert had left, when it came down to the facts, he’d wanted to protect her because she wasn’t _brave—_

“Oh,” said Jenny, and suddenly she couldn’t be angry anymore, because it all made sense. She’d been so, so afraid, and worse than that was the fact that she’d been afraid Rupert would leave her if he knew. And then he _did_ leave her, in some kind of misguided attempt to protect her, and all it had done was proven her fears right. He’d left her because she was scared, and he could tell, and he probably felt responsible for it.

Jenny looked up at Rupert, who of course had no idea of the epiphany she’d come to, and smiled a little sadly. Knowing the reasons for her feelings didn’t stop her from feeling them, no matter how much she wished it did. “Sorry,” she said simply.

Rupert sort of smiled. It looked a little like a grimace. “I understand,” he replied.

He didn’t. That was kind of the problem. Jenny leaned against the tree.

The vampire finally pulled itself all the way out of its grave, and its eyes locked with Jenny before a slow, predatory smile spread over its face. Jenny was expecting to be terrified, but she couldn’t see that same steely, dispassionate glint that Angelus’s smile had always held. This vampire was nothing but bravado and overconfidence, and she had to laugh.

Rupert stared at her.

“Feisty,” said the vampire, and grinned. “I like that in a woman. Shame about your arm, though.”

“Oooh, you gonna bite me?” Jenny stood up, smiling back threateningly. She could see Xander gesturing frantically for her to get out of the way so he could fire the potato gun, but there was a wild recklessness rushing through her. She felt brave, looking at a vampire and thinking _I’ve seen worse._ “Kinky. I’m not usually in for that sort of thing, though—ask him.” She jerked her head towards Rupert.

“Ms. _Calendar,_ ” Xander called sharply. The vampire didn’t turn to look at him; its eyes were fixed on Jenny with a strange fascination.

“You’re hardly a threat,” Jenny informed it, a laugh in her voice. “You’re hardly even a vampire. Ten seconds out of the coffin and you think you can own the world? Well, guess what,” and here she stepped forward, placing a hand on its shoulder, “you can’t even kill a sweet, defenseless little lady like me.”

“Try me,” said the vampire, and grabbed her around the waist.

Jenny didn’t like being touched like that, hard and possessive like she was someone’s to own and break. Angelus had broken her fingers like that, careful and romantic, looking at her with the same dispassionate gaze one might direct on an interesting belonging of theirs. Without a second thought, she hit the vampire in the face with her cast.

It hadn’t been expecting that. That was the thing about all those stupidly confident people—they never expected you to fight back. It staggered backward, tripped over a tombstone, and fell flat on its back a few feet away from Jenny, a perfect target for a flaming missile shot from the sky.

Xander hit it neatly in the chest and it caught on fire with a shriek. Staggering to its feet, the vampire batted helplessly at its jacket for a few seconds before finally ripping it off.

“You know, that wasn’t a _lot_ of flame, come to think of it,” said Xander worriedly.

“You _bitch,_ ” snarled the vampire, eyes fixed on Jenny. She heard Rupert jump to his feet behind her, but threw her hand out to stop him.

“Oh, that’s cute,” Jenny said, crossing her arms and smiling at him in the same way she did particularly troublesome students who had just made their last mistake. “But sadly, it takes a little more than that to ruffle my feathers.”

“Speaking of feathers,” Willow added from behind the vampire, water gun aimed at his head, “howzabout we ruffle yours?”


	27. aftermath

“ _Howzabout we ruffle yours,_ ” Jenny said between giggles. Willow was hugging her hard, the water gun dropped in the vampire’s ashes. “Oh my god, Willow, I said _play up to your strengths,_ never, never, ever try and pun like Buffy again.”

“You had me so worried!” said Willow breathlessly. “When he grabbed you, and then you hit him—”

“ _Hey,_ Ms. Calendar, _never_ get in the way of my potato gun again.” Xander sprinted up to them, breathing hard. “I thought you were a goner and—and I didn’t know if I should throw some water balloons at him instead—”

“C’mere, Xander,” said Jenny breathlessly, grabbing Xander’s sleeve and pulling him into the hug too. “We took down a vampire!”

“You _hit him in the face_ that was the _coolest thing_ I’ve _ever_ seen _,_ ” Willow added excitedly, her arms draped around Jenny’s neck.

Jenny laughed, resting her cheek on the top of Willow’s head, and then she looked up and saw Rupert.

His face was ashen and he was shaking, badly, so much that he was holding onto the tree to support himself. She suddenly realized how terrifying it must have been for him to see her like that, especially after Angelus. “Hold on,” she said softly to Willow, and carefully disentangled herself from the hug, crossing the graveyard to reach him.

“I’m quite proud of you,” said Rupert. His voice broke in the middle. “I—I’m very—you’re incredibly capable.”

“Rupert,” said Jenny softly.

“No, I—”

Jenny stepped into his arms, holding him. There was a moment, and then he uttered a small, broken sob, burying his face in her hair. “I thought you’d die,” he said, voice slightly muffled. He was very clearly crying. “I thought I would have to watch you die.”

“Shh,” Jenny murmured.

“I can’t— _can’t_ lose you, Jenny. I don’t care _what_ —”

Jenny raised her eyes to his. “You trusted me,” she said slowly, taking it in. This was _huge._

“It’s—I was so afraid,” Rupert whispered shakily, caressing her face as though he wasn’t quite aware he was doing it.

Jenny looked at that lingering terror and anguish in his eyes. Imagined the self-restraint it must have taken for him to hold himself back. She remembered how easily he’d throw himself into battle for her, before, thought of the way he’d listened to her when she’d told him what she needed now. “I’m sorry I put you through that,” she said quietly.

Rupert swallowed, rested his forehead tentatively against hers, and Jenny suddenly missed him so much and so powerfully that it was a physical ache. She’d forgotten how loving he was. “You do what you want,” he finally said. “It’s not up to me what you choose your life to be.”

It didn’t fix everything, but it was _something._ Jenny wound her arms around his neck, resting her cheek on his shoulder, and just stayed there.

“Hey,” Willow called. Jenny lifted her head, not quite ready to step away from Rupert. This was the first time they’d held each other in weeks. “I—when you’re done, we still have a few more cemeteries to hit, I think.”

“No, uh, we’re good,” Jenny agreed with a nervous laugh, finally managing to let her arms drop.

Rupert was still smiling a little dazedly, but seemed to collect himself after Jenny stepped away. “Right,” he said. “Good. Yes.” He scrubbed roughly at his face with the sleeve of his tweed jacket, wiping away the remaining tear tracks on his face.

Jenny took a breath, then took his hand.


End file.
